


Wings of Freedom

by otterbeans



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen, M/M, Sort of AU, Wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:11:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1879365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otterbeans/pseuds/otterbeans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armin is struck from the sky, and his secret is revealed. Now he will have to learn to fly again.</p><p>~Discontinued</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fall

**Author's Note:**

> This began as a project for me to unclog my pipes of writer's block. I thought to myself, what is the most pointless, pitiable, self-indulgent thing I can possibly write? I should write that. Surely that will clean me out. 
> 
> And this atrocity guttered out of my brain.
> 
> I've grown fond of it, like something that has been left in the fridge too long, gains sentience and starts calling you "mama". I had to give it a chance at a real life. Please humor this proud mother's unfortunate child.

It happens so fast.

Jean and Armin are on the left wing of their small formation, picking through the forest from tree to tree for stray Titans before beginning today's experiments with Eren, which they’ve been doing for long enough that it has an air of routine. Here, he admits, he should know better. Routine creates disaster.

The system they've put together has them on the left, as mentioned, and Sasha and Connie on the right, with Levi, Mikasa and Eren in the middle. He needs to be protected, and they can move quickly to either wing to take care of any lingering problems. Here, so far from human habitation (abandoned or otherwise) or any of the Titan forests, it was unusual to come across a Titan any larger than 10 meters or so, and aberrant were even less common.

He guesses that would make this encounter an aberrant aberrant.

Jean yells for Armin's comfirmation, but he's already aware of the situation. The way its running is making a very particular sound, coming from their flank they're before they even get visual, and it catches his attention.

The strange sound is caused by the Titan's strange gait. As it zeroes in on them from the woody mist, they get a glimpse of its method of locomotion: hopping on all fours. It's arms and legs-- no, they can't be called that-- its forelimbs are exaggerated and long and its hind ones are squat and muscled, like a frog's. It hops quickly forward, in little jumps, moving surprisingly fast for something so deformed. Armin loads and fires a black flare, unsure of how to engage it in combat.

It's all he has a chance to do.

The Titan stops and looks up. Jean's stomach drops as his instincts kick in and he knows something terrible is about to happen. It doesn't just hop this time, but leaps up what has to at least be 30 meters, teeth grabbing one of Armin's lines. His descent happens in slow motion, blue eyes widening as he feels his cable suddenly tug him out of the air and _down_ , down like a rock, like a bird shot from the sky.

Jean pursues, screaming his name, but there's nothing he can do. He's not fast enough to catch him in his fall nor skilled enough to kill the Titan in one blow. Armin's drop jarringly halts for a sickening moment due to his second line, but the anchor easily comes free with the Titan's weight added to its load, and he hits the ground on his back with an audible _snap_.

It must be his spine breaking, Jean thinks, as he swoops down with blades at the ready to try and cut the Titan's nape, but misses. The creature's anatomy is so bizarre that he can barely tell where he's supposed to swing.

He braces himself against a tree at the end of his trajectory and curses his existence, having to watch another comrade fall, an ally, a friend, for little purpose. It's just another day. They're only following orders. Stupid, simple orders. He continues to yell, screaming for Armin to hang on, screaming for help. The bastard is turning him over, tearing at his cape and jacket with his blunt little teeth, trying to get at his flesh...

Jean hears a welcome roar.

He knows that sound, and looks up immediately. Footsteps hit the earth and their pounding echoes like thunder from below. He doesn't think Eren has ever run so fast. In a flash, he's broken through the trees like they're nothing but big, spindly twigs, and swings back his leg in a kick so mighty the Titan's head flies out of sight when it connects.

Armin is still whole under where the Titan's mouth was a second ago. Jean leaps down from his perch. He'll have to be the one to administer first aid, if there will be first aid to be administered at all. He screws his eyes shut, giving himself the time to adjust to the possible carnage, then opens them again-- only to find Armin's body has disappeared.

Eren is standing up from a crouch, with his giant hands cupped like a child would around an interesting bug. He's picked Armin up?

"Eren! The _fuck_ are you doing!"

The Titan-Shifter rumbles a growl of warning at him, but can't do anything as Jean grapples up to his shoulder with his hands occupied like this.

"He's fucking dying! Let me see him!"

He growls again, louder this time, and Jean is about ready to shove a blade in his back and cut Eren out of there until he hears the zipping noise of someone grappling nearby. Mikasa appears at his side like a wraith out of the smoke.

"Armin is in there?" she asks, tone wavering ever-so-slightly.

"Yeah," Jean replies, absolutely burning with ire, "but the dumbshit won't let me see him!"

The Titan snorts, and opens his clasped hands just enough for someone to sneak in. Mikasa does so before Jean can even react. He reaches out, and then kicks Eren's jaw in frustration.

\--

The experiment for that day is called off, as Eren's transformation starts to attract more Titans to the spot that they intended to use. It's decided that they'll fall back to their impromptu headquarters at the canyon until this all gets sorted out. They all tighten their formation around Eren, still carefully holding Armin in his hands.

Connie and Sasha come to Jean with a thousand annoying questions as soon as they all meet back up, but there's barely anything he can answer. Just that an uglyass aberrant snatched Armin up and he's _probably_ alive, considering Eren is taking him back and not throwing a murderous rampage. They then harry the Titan to try and get him to open his hands, who snorts and nips at them to get them to stop. When that doesn't work, they move on to Mikasa. These efforts yield even less results, and they give up entirely.

Levi is not pleased... but, not as pissed off as Jean expected him to be. Mikasa drew him away earlier to say something, and he looked like she had just told him that a Titan had farted its way over Wall Sina. But then she showed him something under her cape, his face twisted, he said something low and threatening, and the matter was left at that.

Hanji is waiting at the threshold of their little keep when she sees Eren coming over the horizon.

"Whatcha got there, big guy?"

There's only one reason he'd be in Titan form anyways, and he's obviously carrying something. He gets down on his knees like he's going to let her have Armin, but hesitates, looking over at Mikasa and making a whuffing sound.

"It's okay," she reassures him, touching his arm, "we don't have a choice."

He nods, and opens his hands just a little again. She crawls in. After a long-suffering pause, Armin yowls, and Jean lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

Mikasa steps out of Eren's fingers, carrying Armin like a bundle wrapped in her cloak. His eyes are glazed over in semi-consciousness, and he's pale as a ghost.

"Ah, Arlert," Hanji murmurs, and comes out to touch his forehead and check his pulse, "I was wondering why he wasn't with you. Come on, bring him in."

Mikasa nods, and follows her. Levi looks like he's planning to come as well. He glances over his shoulder at the last of the Special Operations Squad.

"You three get Yeager out of there and shove the body down the canyon before it attracts any Titans," he commands irritably, and the three of them salute while Eren begins to get down on his stomach so he'll be easy to cut out, "I've got to see if Ackerman isn't bullshitting me."

Now practiced at releasing Eren from his Titan form, Connie and Sasha work together the draw the same blade across the back of his neck. He nearly leaps out of his own flesh, surprising the two of them, and heads for the door still covered in blood and steam and his face marked with angry nerves standing out from his skin.

Jean grabs the hood of his cowl and stops him by the collar. Eren coughs as he chokes himself.

"Jean!" he squirms and kicks like he's intending to shimmy out of his cape and leave it behind, frantic and furious, "let me go! I have to be with Armin!"

"No," Jean growls, pulling him down on his ass with a sharp snap of his arm. Payback is oh so satisfying, "we need at least four people to shove your snake-skin off the cliff, or else we're all going to be Titan chow, _understand?_ "

"Fucking-- _fine!_ "

Before anyone else can even get in position, Eren is already fruitlessly shoving against his Titan corpse, digging up the ground under his feet, snorting like a bull. Much lighter than it looks, once the four of them put their back into the task, they can roll it over. It gives Jean the heebie jeebies, but at least this way, Titans tend to fall into the canyon chasing after his scent long before they make it to their base.

As soon as the task is done, Eren is gone. Jean doesn't have the chance to hold him back for questioning-- he didn't even know he left in the first place. Eren is normally protective of Armin, but this is ridiculous. What good could possibly come of hiding him like that? And why would he only let Mikasa see?

"Hey, was someone feathering a chicken out here?"

Jean's attention is drawn over to Connie looking at something on the ground, and Sasha running to see what he was talking about.

"What? We don't have any chickens!" she puts her hands on her hips, and leans over to look where he's crouched. Jean wanders over as well, curious, "we'd have eggs for breakfast if we had chickens, we wouldn't _feather_ them. Besides, those are huge! They'd have to be the flight feathers off a really big bird, like a heron or an eagle."

"Then one big-ass bird must've died here," Connie remarks, picking one of the feathers up, white and bloody.

Jean notices they're not far from where Eren let go of Armin.

\--

The rest of the afternoon is one long, awkward wait. Both Hanji and Levi, their only superiors way out here, are busy-- and that's the weird thing; there's no reason for Levi to involve himself with treating a casualty. He has no background in doctoring. Why hasn't he come out to give them any orders? Mikasa is with them, and Eren is still nowhere to be found, so there's no chance that any of their questions will be answered either.

The mood in the common room starts off somber; Armin had looked pretty bad off after all, and they're worried for him. But as time passes, Sasha and Connie inevitably start to goof off. Jean rests his forehead on the table in exasperation and ignores them for as long as he can, before he deems their antics inappropriate and knocks their heads together to get them to shut up and sit down.

They mumbles apologies, and 22 games of checkers later, the sun is setting, and a door creaks open. The three stragglers sit at attention.

"Well, I've never done _that_ before," Hanji chuckles under her breath as she enters the room, with a book under her arm. Jean notices it's about... animals? Birds? Levi looks like he's seen about enough of _something_ to last him a lifetime, rubbing his eyes over the bridge of his nose, and Mikasa is just behind him, obviously displeased with her current situation.

"Up," he grumbles, and they stand, "start nightly preparations. Get some food ready. I don't even care. Where the fuck is Yaeger?"

"Probably hiding from you," Hanji adds with a grin.

"I'm going to kill him when I find him," Levi snarls, and takes a deep breath to try and compose himself, “Ackerman, you're not leaving my sight. I need the both of you in the same room to make a proper report."

"But Armin..." Mikasa starts.

"Arlert isn't dead," he hisses back, "so take a fucking order and be glad I'm putting up with this shit at all. And don't give me that look. The mission has been compromised because of your little game, do you understand that?"

Mikasa's eye twitches in distaste, but she purses her lips and says nothing.

"I thought so. The rest of you, if you find Yaeger, bring him to me. Otherwise, I don't want any interruptions tonight. Dismissed."

Mikasa and Jean make eye contact, but it's not enough to convey any sort of meaning before she reluctantly follows Levi back to his quarters. When the door closes behind them, Hanji whistles lowly.

"'Not going near that any time soon."

Silence hangs in the room as all participants try to process what the hell just happened.

"Squad Leader..." Jean speaks up, first to regain his voice, "what's going on? What happened to Armin?

"Kirstein," she replies, clapping a hand to his shoulder and shaking her head, "I have no idea."

She then ruffles his hair a little, walks in the direction of the kitchen, and beckons them to follow her. They linger in the common room just long enough to exchange looks from one person to the next, silently passing the hot potato of responsibility until it lands on Jean, Sasha and Connie staring at him desperately.

"Fine, fine!" he stage whispers at them, and turns on his heel, ready to get to the bottom of this if it kills him.

Jean gathers himself at the entrance to where he knows they're keeping Armin. What could be wrong, really? He's alive, according to reports. That's better than the alternative, which he was convinced of when he first saw him fall.

He takes a deep breath, turns the knob, and steps in.

White feathers are scattered across the floor.

"'The hell?" he murmurs, as he shuts the door behind him. They're the same feathers that Connie saw outside, huge and bloody. He picks one up. It feels greasy between his fingers. Why in the world...?

On the bed in the corner of the room, blankets rise and fall with a shuddering motion. Armin must be under there. His boots are loud against the floor as he closes the space between them, the rest of the room queerly quiet.

"Hey, Armin," he says about as gently as someone like him can, "I don't know if you're awake, but I'm just gonna peek under here for a sec and see if something's up. Then I'll leave you alone, promise."

No response. His fingers are hesitant to move. The air feels heavy, grave, like it's holding a secret. This whole day had been so surreal; Jean almost expects to wake up, and find that the slowly reddening sunset was really the sun rising, and all of this has been a dream. He pulls the sheets back, feeling like his arm is detached from his body.

One wing, dark, is loosely tucked against Armin's back. The other, white, is bound snug to his body with bloodstained bandages.

He isn't given the time to form a thought about the impossible sight before him.

" _Get the fuck away from him!_ "

Eren, out of nowhere, tackles him with all his strength. Jean crashes into the nearest wall, and then rolls to the floor, pinned down by his furious squad-mate.

"What did you see!?"

"Get the fuck off of me--" he tries to turn and push him off, but Eren locks his knees at either side of his waist and takes the collar of his shirt in his fists to violently pull him up, baring his teeth. Jean grabs uselessly at his arms, trying to get away.

" _Tell me what you saw!_ "

" _Eren!_ "

A reedy voice causes the action to come to a screeching halt. Armin has pushed himself up on trembling arms, still struggling with consciousness. The dark wing, which is a charcoal grey color now that Jean gets a better chance to look at it, hangs limply at his side.

"Armin--" Eren begins, and lets go of Jean, but is cut off.

"Stop, Eren," he murmurs, "It doesn't matter anymore... It doesn't..."

His eyes roll back, and Eren leaps up to catch him before he falls and jars himself. He looks so frail in his friend's sturdy arms. Eren seems to instinctively know just how to hold him around the unwieldy wings.

"I just..." Eren shakes his head, wanting to hold Armin tighter, but afraid he will hurt him if he does, "I wanted to protect you. I won't be able to anymore. We messed up, Armin. We messed up real bad."

"It's okay," he reassures him in a tiny voice, "It was an accident There was nothing to be done about it. And... We don't have to worry about Jean, at any rate."

Jean snorts from his place on the ground, just sitting back up, still able to appreciate Armin's hint even when he doesn't know what the fuck is going on.

Eren turns away in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, making fleeting eye contact, "I'm used to hiding him, and beating people up, and... I was really worried and stressed out and stuff..."

" _Yaeger!_ "

Levi suddenly stands in the doorway with his arms crossed, righteously angry from head the toe, spooking all three of them.

"You better've been having a rough shit this whole time you've been missing! Get your ass over here, now!"

"Y-yes, sir!"

Eren's second most weakness is that, when given an order, he cannot refuse. An order from Levi, well, that's completely out of the question. He carefully lays Armin back down, and tucks the wing back in for him with a practiced motion. It's obvious that he doesn't want to leave, but...

"I won't let anyone hurt you," he whispers, touching Armin's hair, "ever."

Armin nods, and relaxes, letting Eren know he can go. He trudges after Levi (who could care less what Jean is doing there), stealing backwards glances, and giving Jean one last threatening glare before leaving. His message is clear: If you so much as make him uncomfortable, I'll have your head on a stake.

The door closes behind them. Jean doesn't even know where to start. The sound of Armin's labored breathing rings in his ears.

 _The fuck is this!?_ he wants to say, because seriously... The fuck is this? It explains all the feathers, although now he kind of wishes they were having chicken for dinner, because how in the world do you even approach this? He has _wings!_ How does that _happen?_

But he holds back. Armin looks absolutely broken, lying there on his front, clutching his pillow and unable to move. The situation has to be more severe than Jean can comprehend. No, he has to approach this from a kinder angle. It's not his usual angle, but he has to try.

"Got anything to say?" he attempts first, still sitting on the floor.

"There's not much left to explain," Armin replies, sorrow in his throat, "You've seen everything."

"In my life? I _think_ I have," Jean says, and begins to rise, "But then shit like this happens, and I'm not so sure anymore."

Armin lets out one short _ha_ of laughter. His smile is small, quivering, but still a smile. Jean sits at the foot of his bed, giving him plenty of space, wary and supportive. He can't help but stare at his wings. The unbound one occasionally twitches, or ruffles, and it freaks him out a little. They're real. They're a part of him.

"Alright, forget an explanation. You got some sort of story?"

"A story?"

"Yeah, like..." Jean pauses to gather his thoughts, "Your life, how you got here, how this happened, whatever. You've got wings like a God-damned bird, you've gotta have some sort of story to go with 'em.

Armin hums.

"Nobody's ever asked me that before. I'm not sure what to say."

"Eren and Mikasa seem to know what's up. How'd that happen?"

"Eren? A happy accident," he says, smile turning warm. He speaks quietly, slowly, around contemplative breaths, "I was bullied, even with my wings hidden. I was never very sure of myself. The first time he came to my rescue, I had been hurt so badly that he carried me back to his father for treatment. It was inevitable that he would see. And Dr. Yaeger... I thought my life would be over. Grandfather always warned me to let no-one find out, that they would do terrible things to me..."

"Grandfather?" Jean remembers that all of Armin's kin had died after Shiganshina.

"Yes-- well, in a way. Grandfather found me abandoned when I was just a baby, and took pity on me. I never knew my real parents. I wish I did, that they could have explained to me why I'm like this, but I suppose life is not so simple."

"Okay. So Eren found out, and they didn't tell anybody."

"No. Dr. Yeager examined me very thoroughly, and asked to continue to be able to do so on a regular basis, but he kept my secret. And Eren, of course. He vowed to protect me, no matter what-- you know how he is. When Mikasa came to live with them, we shared my secret with her, and she took up the same sword."

Armin has to stop to catch his breath. He wheezes in pain. Jean puts a hand on his... calve.

"How bad is it?"

"I fell directly on it," he groans, swallowing hard, "better than my back, but... the bones are light and hollow. It broke in several places. Hanji did her best to splint it, with what little knowledge about birds she could gather, but I don't know if this will heal correctly. That Titan chewed up so many of my blood feathers too. I'm surprised I didn't bleed out."

Jean doesn't understand a whole lot about what he just said, but nods.

"I thought you were a goner when that aberrant snagged your line. I'll take this over that any day," he shrugs, this whole paradigm-shifting thing becoming a normal occurrence for him now.

"It's the first time they've ever been of any use to me..."

"What, you can't fly?"

Armin laughs again, and shakes his head.

"They've been far too small for most of my life to gain flight, although Eren pushed me out a lot of trees trying when we were younger. Besides, if I could..."

"You wouldn't be here."

"Mmm. But would you believe I wanted to join the Corps as a child?"

He lifts his grey wing a little.

"One light and one dark. I thought that the insignia meant something. I thought that I would discover something about myself."

 _No such luck,_ Jean thinks. And now, he very well may end up where horrible things could happen to him. In fact, he was keeping together quite well despite that.

"You aren't scared."

Armin sighs, and closes his eyes.

"It's been a long time coming."

Slowly, grimacing, he stretches his free wing out to full length. It's huge, maybe even longer than he is tall. The question Armin intends for him to have comes to mind immediately; how the hell has he been hiding this?

"About a year ago, they started to grow larger. Puberty, adulthood, I don't know. Perhaps someday they will be large enough for me to fly. But for now... Living secretly is becoming impossible."

Upon closer inspection, the dark wing is mangled. Many of the feathers have been cut, and it shakes as he tries to hold it up, as if the limb has no strength.

Very tentatively, Jean reaches out. Armin inhales sharply as he feels the ticklish sensation of his feathers being touched.

"Is it hurt?"

"N-no," he stutters, looking over his shoulder as best he can, "a little bruised, maybe, but it's okay."

"Right," Jean scootches in closer, and tries to imitate the motion Eren made before, tucking Armin's wing in just enough that he can lay it on his lap.

Oh, this is weird. This is so weird. The wing twitches and reacts to his touches, like a real bird's. He rakes his fingers in-between the cropped feathers, and Armin shudders, his whole body melting in relaxation.

"How'd this one get all messed up then?"

"I..." that's so pleasant, and Armin hasn't felt it in a long, long time. For a second, he can't find his words, “I trim the feathers, and bind the wings to my body, so no one can see. But it hurts, and weakens the joints... _Oh!_ "

Jean begins to scratch under his feathers, along the arm of his wing, and Armin nearly loses it.

"Oh please, Jean, that's too much, I... I haven't groomed in ages, and I was bleeding, I must be disgusting..."

There is quite a bit of detritus gathering under Jean's fingernails, but he pays it no mind. He thinks about Armin alone, cutting these feathers, binding them down, hiding in plain sight all on his own... The loneliness must be crushing.

"Shut up. It's good, right?"

Armin can only mumble incoherently.

"...Don't give up," he orders, softly, as Armin blinks himself into sleep, "you've worked too hard for too long. It'd be stupid. You may suck at using the gear, but if you could actually _fly_... You could be useful. Useful like Eren is. I know you weren't lying all those times you made speeches about saving humanity. If you could convince the commander, we could all keep you safe."

"You believe that..."

"Of course I do," Jean huffs, "and I don't believe in just anything."

Armin's lip twitches. He takes a long, deep breath, and lets it out slowly.

"Thank you."

Jean nods, a little bit red from being so forthcoming, but shit, if he's the one that has to be responsible, then he'll fucking be responsible.

He continues to gently separate Armin's feathers and scratch at the spaces between them. The little blonde raven is helpless to stay awake, good feelings dulling the sensations of pain. Jean feels his wing gradually go limp in his hands as he falls asleep. He looks up, and realizes it became dark sometime when he wasn't paying attention.

Leaving the room without waking Armin up is a careful dance, but he manages. In the kitchen, dinner is nearly done. Connie opens his mouth and Jean covers it with his hand before he can say anything. He makes a grossed-out face and shoves Jean's hand away.

"Ugh, your hand is gross!" Connie smacks his lips, afraid he got it in his mouth, "what the hell happened in there?"

"You'll have to see for yourself. And not _now_ , he's fucking sleeping."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this, keep an eye on it, I will probably add onto it in the future when I feel like indulging myself further in this blessed mess.
> 
> Also, if you liked this, please leave a comment or a kudos. I am a narcissistic, egotistical creature, stunned by the sight of myself in mirrors and hypnotized by the sound of my own voice, and I subsist entirely on the approval of strangers.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	2. Feathers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a flashback chapter, sort of an origin story for Armin and his relationship with Eren and Mikasa. As such... Jean isn't in it. I'm sorry! I value his friendship with Eren and Mikasa in this situation just as much, so I felt it needed to be explained. I'm changing the tags to reflect this.

More than anything, he loves his grandfather's books.

They speak of vast lands, unimaginable landscapes and numbers so great he cannot grasp them. He wants to see the fiery deserts, the mountains of ice and the ocean still unconquered even by the people who came before the walls. He wants to breathe the air of higher places, a desire that has dwelled within him his entire life.

Armin is sheltered, not because he is weak, or because his grandfather wishes to deprive him, but out of necessity. And he understands, really. He's old enough now to comprehend the danger of his secret, and how it could threaten his livelihood. There's no-one else like him here, in this giant cage. Maybe out there somewhere, but not in here. People might do mean things to him if they found out. So he has to stay safe until he gets older, and can fly out to find the rest of the people like him on his own.

When he was very little, his grandfather would lift him up above his head, and he would laugh and flap his wings. Now, he is too heavy, and his grandfather too old. Instead, every morning, Armin tucks his wings close to his back and they wrap a piece of linen around and around his body until his wings stay there. It itches a little, but it keeps his secret hidden under his baggy clothes. He doesn't complain.

As he goes outside for the day, to leave Shiganshina and go and find firewood for the house, he looks at all the people bustling around and wonders what their lives are like. It must feel good, to be like everyone else. It must not be so lonely.

He moves through the city by traveling alleyways. It takes longer than the main thoroughfare to the gates does, but there are less people, so there's less of a chance that someone would run into him. If he ripped his clothes, or if someone felt something odd, he would be in a lot of trouble.

However, he has to deal with a different kind of trouble back here.

Bored neighborhood kids-- his grandfather calls them punks, but Armin would never say that to their faces-- tend to loiter around alleys when they have nothing better to do. Most of them leave him alone. Some of them don't. It gets worse when they see you more than once.

"Hey, blondie!"

Armin has learned that completely ignoring them isn't a good idea. When they chase, they don't give up, and he's not that fast of a runner. He stops and looks up from his feet just a little, acknowledging that he's been called.

There are three boys. They're a little bit bigger than him. That isn't a good sign. The teenagers that are a lot bigger than him usually leave him alone; they're too old to be picking on little kids. These boys are probably his age. They wouldn't feel bad about beating him up.

"I don't have any money..." Armin mumbles, his go-to conversation shut down. He really doesn't have any money. Hopefully that would cause them to lose interest.

"Eh?" one boy postures at him, sitting on top of a pile of crates, "he says he doesn't have any money!"

"That's terrible!" another chimes in, tossing a rock in his hand, "how is he going to pay the toll?"

They all begin to encroach on him, and Armin tries to make himself look small.

"I'll pay you the next time I'm here..." he tries to appease them, fear creeping into his voice.

"Nuh-uh. You've been here before, a whole bunch'a times. You can't put any more on credit."

"But I didn't know you were here!"

Oh no. He shouldn't have raised his voice. The boy with the rock throws it at him, and it grazes his temple in a blinding flash of pain. Armin throws his hand up on reflex, and feels blood.

"Looks like he's got a mouth on him after all!" the largest of the three boys cracks his knuckles, "alright guys, you know what to do!"

The other two quickly grab each of his arms, and slam him against the nearest wall. Armin is terrified, but for a moment, he's also glad. His wings are safe, they won't see his...

His thoughts are silenced with a knee to the gut.

He coughs out saliva, and takes in a thin, whistling breath. Then the bully clods him about the head, left, right and left again. He's so dizzy he can't see the uppercut that comes next. Thank God he doesn't bite his tongue. His head slams back against the wall behind him and his consciousness flickers. He falls to his hands and knees, and all three of them begin to kick him.

He only catches bits and pieces of what happens next.

"...Yaeger! Get the fuck out of--"

"--Walls, he won't stay down..."

" _Yow!_ He fuckin' bit me...!"

"Forget it, he's crazy! We'll finish this later!"

The commotion stops. Armin tries to open his eyes. It's too bright, and his head aches terribly.

Someone touches him, a little roughly, but with gentle purpose.

"--re you okay?"

Armin moans in response. He can only see the shadowed silhouette of this person hovering over him, a boy, perhaps no older than he is.

"Man, they got you good," his voice echoes eerily, "hey, can you hear me? Hey!"

He can't hold on anymore. Armin lets go of the last scraps of his consciousness, left with no choice but to trust himself to this shadowy figure.

\--

Eren shakes the boy again, but it's no use. He's out cold. Poor kid... Three on one is totally unfair! He can't believe those punks would dare set up their dumb little racket so close to his house. Don't they know his reputation? He'll never let this fly! He doesn't care what his mom says; he'll be back again tomorrow to beat some sense into them.

But before he lets his anger get away with him, he has to take care of this kid.

"I'm gonna take you back to my house," he says, hoping that perhaps he can hear, "my dad's a doctor, he'll fix you up."

After a lot of awkward maneuvering, Eren finally gets the boy on his back. It's tough carrying completely dead weight, but he can do it! He's weirdly light anyways; maybe he doesn't get enough to eat.

His hands are full, so Eren knocks on his own door by insistently head butting it.

"Coming!" he hears his mother say, and he sighs in anticipation of the tongue-lashing he's about to receive. The door opens, and she immediately sees him all roughed up.

" _Eren!_ ," her hands are on her hips, and he just knows he's going to get clod about the ears for this, "just what have you gotten yourself into this time--"

"Mom, he was in trouble!" he shifts around so she can better see the blonde kid on his back, "some punk kids were beating him up, I had to do _something_..."

"Oh!" her disposition changes as soon as she sees the entire situation. She pulls back some of the boy's bangs to see the cut across his forehead, still slowly oozing blood, "oh, poor thing," she gently lifts his chin up with her fingertips, "sweetie, can you hear me?"

The boy whines lowly, but does not wake. She shakes her head sadly.

"That's terrible. What a bunch of bullies those children are... Eren, will you take him to the examination room? Your father should be home soon."

"Okay," he replies, and lets out a breath as soon as he's out of earshot, glad that he's gotten out of a punishment for now.

His dad's exam room isn't super fancy, but it gets the job done. Eren heaves the boy onto a bed in the middle of the space, stiff, white and covered in clean sheets. To the side, there's a table with a bunch of medical instruments. Eren only knows what about half of them do. There's a cabinet full of different medications that he's never supposed to touch. And one big, high window, letting in light during the day.

"I've never seen you around before," Eren talks to the boy. His dad said once that sometimes, even unconscious people can hear you, "and there aren't _that_ many kids in Shiganshina. Did you just move here or something? You gotta be more careful, people can be real mean out here in the border towns."

Eren jumps up to sit on the examination bed as well, swinging his feet over the edge. The boy grimaces, arches his spine up and shimmies his shoulders in discomfort.

"What's the matter? Your back?" Eren scoots a little closer, "are you bleeding? Let me look..."

He unbuttons the powder blue jacket the boy is wearing, and lifts his arms, so he can pull that off, as well as his shirt. The shirt is weirdly stubborn, like it's caught on something. Maybe the blood has dried, and it's gotten stuck? Eren gives one last good yank, and pulls it off.

"Why do you have bandages on like this? Were you already hurt? What's up with your--"

Eren turns the boy over, and his eyes go huge.

"Mom! _Mom!_ "

\--

As Armin slowly blinks awake, the first thing he notices is that, where ever he is, it smells funny. Too clean, like the bottle of alcohol his grandfather would use to rub on his scraped knees. His whole body hurts, and his head feels fuzzy.

"...Hmm. Yes, these joints are just like a bird's. But the whole wing is far too small to be good for anything."

"Wow..."

He hears two voices. A man's and a boy's. He doesn't recognize either of them. They were-- They were talking about his _wings_ \--

Armin makes an awful noise. No. _No_. They could _see_. He shakes his head, as if he's trying to deny reality, and tries to rise on his arms. He has to run, and get away, and hope they don't follow him or capture him.

This doesn't make any sense, of course, but sense isn't something that he's capable of right now. His heart is racing, and he feels sick to his stomach, his vision leaning to the side. His skin prickles with ice cold sweat.

"Ah-- now now," the man simpers, "you shouldn't move too quickly. You have a concussion. Those boys did a number on you."

He tries to touch his head, to get him to lie back down, but Armin reacts in a way he didn't know he could; he mantles his wings and fluffs his feathers, trying to make himself look bigger than he actually is. The man backs up in his chair and the boy darts to hide behind him.

"Don't touch me," Armin says, meaning to sound intimidating, but coming off more crazed and frightened. His voice hitches, "Go away! I can't-- I can't be here, you can't have me!"

"'Have you?'" the man raises an eyebrow, and opens his mouth as if he wants to say something more, but Armin doesn't want to hear it. He scrambles off the examination table and presses himself into a nearby corner.

"Boy..."

It's no good. As soon as the man gets up and tries to come closer, Armin sets up a panicked wail, burying his face in his knees drawn up to his chest, tears streaming down his face. He's trying to hide his head with his wings.

"Dad, stop it! You're scaring him!"

The boy steps in-between him and the man, arms spread out wide to keep him from getting any closer. Armin turns his head to peer up just a little.

"Eren, I have to..."

"No, you have to go!" he demands, pushing the man towards the door with all his weight, "I'll talk to him, then he can talk to you if he wants to, okay? Go, go!"

Although he could very easily overpower this Eren boy, the man lets himself be shoved away. There's a hint of a smile on his face. When they reach the doorway, he kneels down to be eye-level with the boy, and says something in a whisper that Armin can't hear. The boy nods, and the man leaves the room. When he turns around, Armin hides his face again

He takes a step towards Armin. And then another, and then another, slowly and purposefully, so Armin knows exactly what he's doing. He gets as close as he can before Armin hiccups another cry, and decides that that's far enough. He sits down there, his legs crossed.

"Hi," he says, leaning over to try and see this winged boy's face, "I'm Eren. I got those bullies to leave you alone and brought you here, 'cause you were hurt. This is my dad's clinic."

Armin hesitates, and then lifts his head a little. Now that he gets a good look at him, he recognizes the shape of his face. Eren _is_ the boy that scared them off. He's scuffed up as well, with a shiner under his eye and a bandage on his cheek.

"Why?"

He says it before he can even think about it, but it's what he wants to know. He doesn't understand. Why would anyone want to help him?

"Why?" Eren scoffs and rolls his eyes, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and Armin is even more curious, "because I hate bullies! Picking on guys that are smaller than them, just because they can... It makes me so mad! Everyone should be free to live or walk where-ever they want without being afraid of being hurt, right?"

Armin's eyes water up, and he hides himself again.

"Hey..." Eren edges a little closer, "why are you crying?"

"I can't," Armin whimpers, "because of my wings. Now bad people will do bad things to me, because I'm not like they are."

"I wouldn't do bad things to you," Eren grumbles.

"...You don't want to hurt me?"

"Of course not!" he says loud enough that it startles Armin, "don't lump me in with those guys! I would never hurt an innocent person!"

He feels all the air leave his lungs. Armin looks at Eren with wide eyes.

"You think... I'm a person...?"

"Well, yeah!" Eren insists, "A person with really neat wings!"

Armin has a squeezing feeling in his chest. The cold in his hands goes away. He half crawls, half scoots his way closer to Eren, and grabs his wrist. He realizes that this is the first time he's ever touched someone besides his grandfather before. Other people are just as warm.

"Hi," Eren says again.

"Hi."

"What's your name?"

"...I'm Armin." he replies softly.

"Hi, Armin. Can I call my dad in now?"

Armin tightens his hold on Eren's wrist. Tears start to spill down his cheeks again.

"Hey, it's okay. I promise I'll protect you," he bumps shoulders with Armin, "so don't worry. Nobody will hurt you while I'm around."

"...You promise?"

"Yeah! Here--"

Eren offers Armin his pinky. He stares blankly in return.

"Oh-- like this, dummy."

He takes Armin's hand, and stretches his pinky out properly so they can link theirs together. Then he shakes on it.

"There!" Eren smiles, "That means I promise forever!"

In that moment, Armin believes him. He sees his smile and he feels invincible. He nods dumbly, completely focused on Eren. He pulls their fingers apart and pats Armin on the head a little too hard.

"I'll go get my dad, and everything'll be fine!"

Armin watches him go, and doesn't want him to leave. He never wants to be separated from him ever again.

\--

"He thinks we're gonna do bad stuff to him," Eren explains to his father, "that's why he was so freaked out."

"I assure you, I have no intention of holding you here. You're afraid that I would take advantage of you due to your mutation?"

He's never heard that word before, but Armin already doesn't like it. He's sitting on the examination table, half hiding behind Eren, holding his arm for support. He nods in regards to the doctor's question, and the man sighs.

"Then let's start over," the man takes off his glasses and polishes them against the hem of his sleeve, "my name is Grisha Yaeger, and I'm a doctor. I treated you after my son here found you being beaten by some neighborhood bullies. And then... well, here we are."

"Do you have a name?" the doctor asks.

"Armin... Arlert..." he replies, still unsure if he should be telling this man anything.

"Armin. That's a good, solid name," Grisha folds his hands his lap, "does anyone take care of you, Armin?"

"My grandfather."

"I'm glad you're not fending for yourself out there. Do you mind if I contact him, so he can take you home?"

 _Home_. Armin hears that word and his eyes light up with hope. Wariness warns him in the back of his head that this could still all be a trick, and he shouldn't trust anyone, but he just wants to go home. Grandpa would come and save him. Armin hesitates, but nods.

Grisha readies a pen and some paper, and he writes down the location of his house as best as Armin can describe it.

"Alright. I'll go and fetch him myself," the doctor stands and straightens his clothes, "Eren, could you please take Armin to recuperation? This room isn't terribly comfortable."

"Okay," Eren replies.

"I'll be back shortly, then."

Grisha leaves the room. Eren butts against Armin, grinning.

"See, I told you! My dad's a good guy, he'll help you out."

Armin's head flutters in agreement to whatever Eren says, whether he's sure if he believes it yet or not.

"Come on, I'll take you to recoup. The bed in there is nicer."

It is nicer. He doesn't realize how much his head is hurting until he lays it down on a pillow. He settles his wings together, tucking them against each other comfortably.

"That's so cool..." Eren says in awe, and Armin looks back at himself. He's never really thought of his wings as more than a burden at this stage in his life.

"I don't think so..."

"Are you moving them?" Eren asks, scooting close to him on the bed.

Armin nods, and then stretches them up, and then out, to prove it. He gives them a hard flap, and Eren jumps back in surprise.

"Woah! Can you _fly?_ "

"No..." Armin replies glumly, and tucks them back again.

"That's okay. You'll learn someday," he reassures him, and Armin nods, "can I touch them?"

"Um... Okay."

Eren runs his hand over the ridge of his wing, and down his longest feather. It's really nice. The boy nearly giggles as he pets the downy feathers where his wing and shoulder connect, and Armin closes his eyes in relaxation.

\--

" _Armin!_ "

His eyes fly open. Did he fall asleep? Armin pushes himself up, looks around the room, and gasps.

"Grandpa!!"

Armin launches himself off the bed and into his grandfather's arms, his wings spread wide. He rubs his damp cheek against his scratchy stubble and smells his burnt scent.

"Armin... Armin, I thought I'd lost you!"

"I'm so sorry Grandpa. I made some kids mad..."

"Oh child, don't apologize," his grandfather holds him tight, and strokes his hair, "you did nothing wrong."

He clings back just as tightly, nuzzling his collar and wiping his tears on his grandfather's shirt.

They put his clothes back on, and leave the room. He holds his grandfather's hand with an unyielding grip. The doctor, Grisha, waits for them in the kitchen of his house. He and his grandfather talk, but Armin doesn't pay any attention. He looks around for Eren, who blindsides him with a tackling hug. Armin nearly crumples up in fear until he realizes who it is.

"You hear that? You're gonna come back, so my dad can make sure you're okay!"

Actually, he didn't hear. Armin looks up in puzzlement.

"Just every once in awhile," the doctor corrects his son, and Eren sticks out his tongue, "to see how those wings are developing."

"Whatever, dad! We're gonna be friends, you'll see!"

"Friends..." Armin breathes, blinking owlishly. His heart swells at the thought of the word.  He gives Eren the gentlest butt with his shoulder, like he had done to him before, and Eren laughs, butting him back again.

He feels his grandfather tug on his hand.

"Come now, let's get you home."

Armin nods up in agreement, but keeps looking back for the Eren, even as they open the door and leave. The boy waves goodbye energetically, and Armin raises his hand in return.

\--

The next day, Armin stays in bed. He hurts all over and feels dizzy. He's not upset though. He considers yesterday a good day. A great day. He thinks about the boy that he met and he hugs his wings close to his himself like he had been hugged. His whole body feels warm.

The day after that, he is restless. He walks around his little house like he's looking for something that isn't there, pacing and pausing, heaving sighs, over and over. It takes nearly all morning for him to realize what it is that he wants. It then takes him hours of agonizing to build up the courage to face his grandfather.

 "Grandpa..."

"Yes, Armin?"

He tugs at his shirt, pulling him down to his height. He shuffles his feet and barely manages a moment of eye contact.

"Can I... Go out today?"

"Whatever for?" his grandfather cants his head just slightly.

"I want..." he stumbles over his words, afraid of them leaving his mouth, afraid of asking for anything, "I want... To go see my friend..."

His grandfather smiles, a painful smile, so sorry for everything that this child is, nearly crying over something so simple.

"I'm sorry," Armin chokes, twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands, thinking he has done something wrong.

"Oh, Armin," he takes his face in his hands, and locks their eyes, "go. Go see your friend. And don't ever feel sorry for wanting to be happy."

" _Grandpa_ ," he cries, and hugs him so tightly he can barely breathe, "Thank you so much. I promise I'll be okay."

"I know," his grandfather hugs him back, and pries him away to turn him around and give him a light shove in the direction of their door, "now go! Go!"

Armin looks back briefly, and waves like he's now learned how to, before leaving the house.

And he runs. Runs down the main road, dodging people, bumping into other children. He doesn't care. He finds the clinic again, and knocks at the door, out of breath and _joyful_.

A woman opens the door. Her eyes remind him of Eren.

"Oh! The boy from the other day," she has a towel in her hands, like she's wiping something, "are you alright? Do you need something?"

"I-- umm...!"

" _Armin!_ "

Eren comes out of nowhere, and grabs his arm.

"Do you have any chores? Huh?"

Armin shakes his head vigorously, eyes bright.

"Come on then! I wanna show you my room!"

Eren tugs on him to come along, and he follows doggedly after his energetic companion.

Armin smiles.

\--

The days that follow are the ones he remembers as the happiest of his life.

For the first time, he has a friend. He grows strong, romping like a proper child, running around in the streets and having adventures out in the fields. As long as Eren is with him he isn't afraid of anything. When he knows that prying eyes are unaware, he'll even let his wings out as they play. He finds a second family in Grisha and Carla. Every day he learns to smile a little bit better. He's not lonely anymore.

Sometimes Eren has to go on trips with his father. Doctors are needed in lots of places after all. Armin will sulk for a day or two after he leaves, because he knows he has to wait awhile for him to come back. But then he gets excited counting down the days, and always gives Eren his most enthusiastic welcome home when he returns.

Today is one such day. He trots his way to the clinic, whistling, wondering what sorts of stories Eren's brought back from his journey.

"Oh, Armin..." Carla gets down to his height after she opens the door, giving him a sorry smile, "I'm sorry, Eren can't play today. Maybe not for a few days."

"Is he okay?" Armin tries to peer over his shoulder.

"He'll be alright, I promise," she strokes his hair, "things are just different right now. It'll even out in time."

This only brings up more worrying questions in Armin's mind, but he nods. Carla gives him a hug before closing the door. Armin stands there for a few moments, upset, and then turns the corner to leave.

There's a banging at Eren's window, and he can hear a muffled voice. Armin pivots on his heel.

"Armin! Hey!"

"Eren!"

Armin clambers up some old boxes and grabs Eren's windowsill, pulling himself up. Eren looks fine. He lets out a sigh of relief.

"Eren, what happened?"

"No time to explain!" Eren glances behind him, "look, can you go to our secret base tomorrow? I'll meet up with you there!"

"Okay! I'll go!" Armin nods enthusiastically.

"Great! Now scram before we get caught!"

Armin jumps away from the window, and they wave each other off. At least Eren's okay. He'll figure out just what's going on tomorrow!

\--

Their "Secret Base" is a huge, half-dead oak tree in the middle of a field of wildflowers. It’s great for climbing, and even better for unsuccessful flight attempts. Sometimes they'll gather the flowers and sell them for a penny or two back inside the gates. When they figured out how, Eren and Armin tore some bark off the old tree, and hollowed out the rotting inside, making the perfect hiding place for when people or carts pass by.

Armin left in the morning and made it to their spot by the afternoon. He brought some food with him in case Eren took awhile, or didn't have any himself. About an hour later, he catches glimpse of Eren making his way up the far-off hill. Armin stands to wave both his hand up in the air in signal.

Eren has someone by the hand behind him. Armin is properly shocked. Eren's never spoken to him about other friends before, let alone someone he would take to their secret base... He flattens his wings tighter against his back.

"Armin!" he calls once he's close enough, and Armin can see now that the person Eren has with him is a girl. She has long, dark hair, so dark that he'd call it black, and she's wearing a red scarf that he knows Eren to have worn in the past, "I'm glad you made it! I barely got out of the house myself; my mom was watching me like a hawk..."

"I'm just happy you're okay," Armin replies, touching his shoulder and bumping their heads together in a gesture of affection, "who's this?"

"This is Mikasa!" Eren tugs her hand gently, and she takes a step forward. When Armin gets a better look at her, well... He isn't sure what to think. He wouldn't say that she looks sad, or even unhappy. It's more like her eyes lack any emotion at all. She's not like any other girl he's ever met, "Mikasa, this is Armin; he's my best friend. Say hi, okay?"

When Eren mention that Armin is his 'best friend', she looks up at him with something that looks like interest. It's very scrutinizing for someone so lacking in presence. Armin wilts a little under her gaze.

"...Hi, Armin."

"H-hi, Mikasa."

Armin looks at Eren, pleading.

"Oh, right. Um." he pauses to think, "Dad and I were going to check up on Mikasa, but some evil men killed her parents."

Something flashes in Eren's eyes. It's something Armin knows exists in him, but it's still scary all the same. He looks to Mikasa, who's looking at the ground. He's not sure if she seems like crying. He's never had parents; he doesn't know what it's like to lose them, but his heart still tightens at the thought. She must feel awful. No wonder Carla told him to give it a few days.

"So I rescued her. Now she's my sister."

"She's your _what?_ "

"Come on Armin, get with it!" Eren pats his friend's head roughly, "my mom and dad are her mom and dad now. And I'm her brother then, so I have to protect her."

"I can protect you too," she says in her quiet monotone.

"But I'm your _brother_ , it's my _job_. Mom said so."

All of this is making Armin nervous. He knots his hands together, and looks to Eren plaintively.

"Oh, don't worry; I'll still protect you too."

This time, it's Mikasa that looks at him in question. Eren sighs and rolls his eyes.

"Look, the both of you come with me! I can fix this in like, two minutes."

Eren takes them, one in each hand, to their hiding spot in the hollowed-out tree trunk. He closes the bark door behind them.

"Okay," he sits down on the damp earth heavily, "Armin, you trust me, right?"

Armin nods.

"And Mikasa. Any friend of mine is a friend of yours, right?"

Mikasa nods.

"Right. So then... Armin," Eren takes him by the shoulders, "you gotta show her."

"Eren!" panic bubbles up in his throat immediately, "I... you know I can't do that! What if she tells someone?"

Eren holds Armin's shoulders even tighter. Mikasa begins to look curious.

"Don't worry. She won't. I promise."

"Eren...!"

" _I promise._ "

Armin sniffs as tears start to gather in his eyes. He can't deny Eren. He wants to trust him, more than anything. He's only frightened.

Eren gives him a tight hug.

"Don't worry." he repeats. Armin nods shakily.

Mikasa is positively confused, although it doesn't show much, as Armin unbuttons his sweater. It's cold outside. Why would anyone want to remove their clothes...?

Even she puts her hands to her mouth when he pulls his shirt over his head.

Armin clings to Eren, eyes shut tight. He gasps when he feels a small hand run over the bone of his wing, and then down through his feathers. He can't do much more than twitch them a little, as they're still bound down. But Mikasa seems fascinated by their movement. He silently cries.

"So soft," he hears her say. She presses both of her little hands on his back, and leans against his wings. Armin is caught in a warm trap between Eren and Mikasa. His tears slow as his fear dissipates, calmed by her gentle action, "like a little bird."

The three of them share a blissful year of childhood together in this flowery meadow, chicks without their flight feathers dreaming of the sky, before it is all taken from them.

Eren curses the world, Mikasa's shell grows harder, and Armin watches as cruelty overtakes everything he was learning to trust. His yearning to fly dies in the face of having to survive by any means necessary. He dons the wings of freedom, and forces himself to forget that he has some of his own. He doesn't remember again for a long time, until someone reminds him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this, please leave a comment or a kudos. I am a narcissistic, egotistical creature, stunned by the sight of myself in mirrors and hypnotized by the sound of my own voice, and I subsist entirely on the approval of strangers.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	3. You Must Survive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter than usual, but I can't write 5000 words chapters all the time! I'm just not built for it. Plus, as you can see, I've sort of written myself into a corner. I need to know a little more canon before I'll be able to continue. Hopefully this next chapter, we'll learn enough about Historia for me to at least bullshit what's on that piece of paper. If not... I'll bullshit something else; I'm not waiting that long to write something new, lol.

Armin wakes up alone the next morning. There's a little bit of food and water at his bedside, and he makes sure to eat it all, even if it takes him awhile. The few soldiers of the Recon Corps left in their base that haven't gone to oversee Eren's examinations that day are there to watch over him, but they're reluctant to interact with him, especially with Hanji gone. Armin can't blame them. He is, perhaps, even more alien than a boy that can turn into a Titan, although certainly not as frightening. 

It's okay. He's still exhausted, and doesn't feel like talking to strangers. Armin spends the day dozing on and off. Now free and unafraid (or at least, beyond consequence) he occasionally tests his uninjured wing by stretching it out to its full length and moving it through its rotation. It's very weak from years of mistreatment and disuse. He can't "flap" it like he could in his youth, and the muscles tremble and ache. Will he be able to train it back to the strength he used to have? Will he be allowed that chance at all? It's not worth over thinking, as he is wont to do, so he sleeps again when he tires himself out.

Everyone returns from their excursion in the late afternoon, as all the commotion wakes him up. Something has happened to Eren, he just knows it. Armin tries and tries to rise to his feet, to see what all the noise is about, but to no avail. He falls back to his bed with a mournful sigh, unable to even be a support to his best friend during a trying time...

He hears the creaking of wood, and gasps, turning his head over his shoulder to see who it is.

Jean has the door open just enough that he can stick his head in, and is obviously fighting some people from barging in behind him at the same time.

"Armin..." he tries to say, then furrows his brow in annoyance, and turns his head to scold whoever's bothering him before poking back in again, "it's Connie'n'Sasha. I'm sorry; I can't hold 'em off any longer. You okay for this?"

"Err," Armin stalls, wanting to say _no_ because of his obviously sad state, but they are his friends. He knows they're no threat to his safety at this point, and they deserve to see him. The worst they could do is reject him, "it's okay. Let them in."

Jean nods, and shoots the two a warning look before opening the door just enough for them to get past him.

Sasha carefully shuffles around him, but Connie flat out shoves past him and steps on his foot in the process. Jean curses and smacks him on the back of the head in retaliation.

"And calm down, okay? He's not..."

" _Holy shit!_ "

"What the _fuck?_ "

Oh, right. It was that shocking when he first found out too, wasn't it. Jeans feelings conflict so often, sometimes he has trouble keeping track of them. He drags a hand down his face, then steps between the two, who are both simultaneously trying to hide behind the other, and Armin, who has buried his face into his pillow out of mortification. Jean lightly touches his good wing, to let him know that he's there, and to prove to Connie and Sasha that Armin isn't some sort of monster to be scared of.

"It's okay guys. It's just Armin."

" _Just_ Armin?" Connie whines, but Jean shuts him up with a look.

Sasha is the first to gain any sort of composure, and takes a few uneasy steps forward.

"This-- this is where the feathers came from yesterday, isn't it?" she says, noticing that his bound wing is white, "I thought they were way too big to be a bird's, but this..."

She reaches out and touches the wing Jean is. Armin, knowing that it's her, flinches, and she pulls her hand back in surprise.

"Are you really doing that?"

Armin nods against his pillow, peeking one eye out to gauge her reaction.

Sasha, due to her experience trapping animals, looks fascinated. As she continues to observe him this way and that, Connie becomes less wary, walking up just behind her.

"Where did they come from?" he asks, "do they just appear, or...?"

"No," Armin says quietly, "I've always had them. I've just been hiding them. That's why this one is broken-- it got crushed under my fall."

They both obviously have questions, but Jean's demeanor speaks volumes: leave it. He doesn't need the stress, and Jean can tell them the details himself later. Armin looks up at him in silent gratitude.

"Do any of you know what happened to Eren?" he speaks up, now that he feels more comfortable.

"How do you know something happened?" Connie sits heavily in a nearby chair.

"Well, there was such a fuss. And Eren would have been the first to come and see me..."

"The experiments didn't go well today," Jean explains, "he tried transforming over and over, and each time it got worse. The Titans he made kept getting smaller, and he was losing control of himself. Mikasa was really pissed off Squad Leader Hanji didn't call the whole thing off sooner."

"Oh..." Armin breathes, crestfallen, "will he be alright?"

"Yeah," Jean lies through his teeth, completely unaware of Eren's status, "he'll be fine. Mikasa and Historia are with him."

He isn't perfectly satisfied, but Armin relaxes into a more restful position. Until he feels curious fingers fan through his feathers, that is. He lets out an undignified squawk, and looks over his shoulder again.

"Sasha!"

"Sorry!" she pulls her hands back as if touching something hot. When did she sit on his bed? She must have sneaked her way next to him while he was talking to Jean, "It's just really interesting! The wing and the feathers are just like the falcons we used to truss up for hunting. Although you've cut a lot of yours... To make it easier to hide?"

Armin nods slowly, surprised by her knowledge and ability to come to the correct conclusions. He settles down and watches her carefully.

"These are flight feathers though. We'd cut the ones on the young falcons to keep them from flying away. They'll take awhile to grow back."

"It's not as though I can fly..." he mumbles, but makes note of which feathers she's addressing. He didn't know a whole lot about himself, aside from what little he could glean from books about animals, and trial and error. Like cutting his blood feathers too close to the quick. That was a small disaster whenever it happened.

"Yeah, these are huge, but still too small altogether. And..." she looks at her hands, now covered in grease, dried blood and grayish dust, "Uck."

"Sorry," Armin blushes in shame, "I haven't had a chance to gr-- clean up, in a long time. I'd need some water, and a brush..."

"I'll get it!" she offers enthusiastically, slips off his bed and exits the room. Jean rolls his eyes.

"What does she think you are, some kind of pet?"

"Probably," Connie snorts.

"It's okay," Armin says, with a small smile. Her reaction reminds him of Eren's, when they first met, "I'd rather be doted on than hated. She doesn't mean any harm."

His words sober the atmosphere more than he intended them to, and the room goes quiet until Sasha returns. She has a basin full of water, and a soft-bristled brush intended for horses. It will work just fine. Armin thanks her, and sits up to groom himself.

It's terribly embarrassing. After a few minutes, he realizes that everyone else is just... watching him, while surreptitiously trying to look like they aren't. He has to do something to break this silence.

"...Sasha?"

She perks up from trying not to be noticed, and nods, sitting next to him on the bed again

"I can't get under my wing," he says, and means it. The binding bandages around his body to keep his other wing steady are hampering his ability to stretch and turn, "and that's where all the dirt collects. Could you clean it for me, please?"

"O-of course," she nods again, trying really hard not to look nervous and failing entirely. But she still wets the brush, like she had seen Armin doing, and scrubs at the underside and joint of his wing as he helpfully angles it towards her, going with the grain of the feathers.

He hums, as he had the night before when Jean combed him with his fingers. She stops for a second.

"It's okay," he assures her, looking over his back, "it's just like... I have an itch I can't scratch."

"Yeah, don't we all," Connie pipes up jealously from his corner, and Jean digs his heel into his foot.

\--

From his perspective, the next few days are absolute chaos. Armin hears about it all second-hand. Although recovering, he's still unable to join his peers on their expeditions.

After their undercover mission in Trost, they gain the trust and cooperation of the Reeves Company. Armin is not pleased with the idea of giving up Eren or Historia to anyone, but he can't deny the cleverness of the plan, and how it may be their only chance. The screams of torture coming from the room where they're keeping the king's men cause him as much unease as everyone else, but... It must done. There are far worse ways, and he knows what they are. Such thoughts haunt him sometimes, when he is alone.

One night. After he gets his legs back under him and loses the weakness in his limbs, he gets one night relaxing among his comrades as he normally would. He catches himself up on every little detail of their recent movements, until they all become annoyed with his pestering, and then settles down to bed with them. It's the first time he can remember having his wings out with so many people, and he's not frightened at all. He sleeps in that stuffy little room, relishing the sound of everyone breathing, the floor creaking, blankets rustling.

Just as the sun begins to rise, Eren bolts awake. Armin has pressed himself up against him in his sleep, and looks up groggily.

"It's... It's okay," he pushes Armin's head back down gently, and gets up to descend the ladder to their room, "I just have to write something down before I forget."

He comes back up in record time.

"Armin, the Squad Leader needs you."

"Seriously?" Armin squints at him in the early-morning light.

"Yeah," Eren looks unusually grave, and it wakes Armin up, "and put your uniform on."

He does as best he can. His shirt is tight, and the shape of his wings are obvious underneath the fabric. It's only somewhat masked by the jacket and loose cloak. Without his usual bindings, he can't hide them properly, and the harness is out of the question. He makes his way to the Squad Leader's office.

Armin is used to Hanji looking manic, but there's something about her this morning that's vastly different. Something severe. Something _frightening_. The look on her face reminds him of a feeling he once carried. A chill runs down his spine as he approaches her.

"Arlert," Hanji grabs him by the shoulders, and turns him around, once, twice, nodding to herself, "not perfect, but we're in a hurry. It'll have to do."

"For what?"

"Team's splitting up," she explains while pacing furiously around her room, grabbing bits of this, notes of that, "I've got urgent news to take to the Commander back at the Trost headquarters. You're coming with me."

Armin blanches.

"Just me?"

She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and glances away from her mad dash just long enough to give him a sympathetic look.

"I know it's risky, but you can't go with the rest of the squad on their next mission. They'll be in full gear, and you can't keep up with them. Coming with me to Trost is your best shot at staying safe."

Old fears boil within him, but he wills them to cease. Shiganshina proved to him that the pretty lie he believed as a child, that Eren and Mikasa could protect him forever, was not possible. When he joined the military, the Recon Corps, he knew that he would someday be entrusting them with his secret, and his survival. Today was that day.

He salutes for Hanji, standing straight-backed and proud.

"I've given my heart to humanity!"

"That's a good soldier!" she turns around and scatters papers across the desk and floor, not caring where they fall as she looks for what she needs, "I'm giving you ten minutes to sort out your farewells, then we're saddling up."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Ten minutes. Armin all but bolts out the door. He needs to find Eren, and Mikasa, and-- Jean. He still has to thank Jean. Were any of them even awake? He runs past the kitchen, no, the hall, no...

" _Eren!_ "

Catching just a glimpse of his back turning a corner, he rushes for his friend, who also turns around at the same time. They collide so hard Armin feels his brain shake in his skull. He grasps at him in a desperate hug, and Eren holds him back, confused.

"Armin, what happened? What did the squad leader need you for?"

"I have to go," he gasps, and Eren suddenly holds him tighter.

"No way! Armin, you can't..." Eren shakes his head vehemently, "not where I can't follow! Who knows what'll happen to you out of my reach!"

"Eren, it's not our decision anymore," he pushes himself away a little, bracing against Eren's shoulders, "you already have to cooperate with the Reeves Company. There's no other way to flush out Rod Reiss. You've put yourself in the hands of others for humanity's sake, and I'm going to do the same."

"But it's not the same! You're..."

"Vulnerable? Weak?" Armin says, and Eren looks away in shame for believing exactly that, "I know. I'm no Titan Shifter. But there's still a chance that I could be useful, good for _something_. I trust the Recon Corps to find whatever that may be."

His logic leaves little room for argument. It's a gamble, yes, but such is the nature of their lives now. Eren opens his mouth, trying to find the words to refute him, yet only makes a sad, strangled sound in the back of his throat. Armin wants to cry.

"Thank you, Eren," he reaches up to bring his head down and touch their foreheads together, a gesture from their childhoods, "you've kept your promise to me, after all these years. I would not be here if not for you. I owe you my life."

Eren closes his eyes, fighting tears.

"You're my best friend, Armin."

"And you are mine," Armin nods against him, then slowly backs away, "don't worry. We will see each other again."

He realizes that he's taken up all the time he had to give with Eren. It was important, and he doesn't regret it, but... Armin lingers just a second longer with his hand in Eren's.

"Please give Mikasa my regards. I owe her just as much as I owe you. And... I know this may sound odd, but tell Jean 'thank you.'"

Eren nods without an ounce of judgment. Armin takes in his face, trying to remember everything as well as he can. They may not see each other again for a long, long time.

He turns to leave.

\--

The ride to Trost takes hours, running their horses at full speed. Hanji takes a considerable risk in not taking a squad with her; there are still Titans about. But they see few, and the ones that do take up the chase are too slow or clumsy to catch up with an unburdened Corps horse. Hanji gets away without having to engage a single one.

By now, Eren and Historia should be changing hands. Worry consumes Armin, but there's nothing he can do about it. He can barely keep up with the breakneck pace they've set. By the time they're putting their horses to stable in the Trost headquarters, he can barely feel his legs, and his broken wing is angry from being jostled too much.

"Come on, Arlert!"

The Squad Leader is fueled by some unending font of energy. Armin breathlessly jogs to catch up, and she takes him by the arm, leading him in front of her. She uses her body to block the sight of his back from view. He lets his shoulders sag in relief as she guides him through the busy streets.

The Recon Corps are chronically short-staffed, but there's no-one at the entrance or in the halls of the headquarters. All of their men must be out in the field somewhere. Hanji opens the door to the Commander's office, and Armin hesitates.

"You're with me, kiddo," she gestures with her head to goad him in, "for better or worse."

Armin steps in, legs still shaking. He hasn't seen the Commander since the confrontation with Bertholt and Reiner. He really did lose his entire arm. He tries to ignore the obvious, doing his best to stand at formal attention when he feels ready to collapse. Erwin passes his eyes over him in curiosity, but focuses his attention on Hanji.

He had already been briefed on the situation. That the power of Titan-shifting is passed on from person to Titan, or person to person, through cannibalism, and that made Eren less of a tool and more of a vessel. His ability to "call" to other Titans made him invaluable. So he understands, even more now, why the royal family would want to get their hands on Eren.

But something still bothers him. If Historia is just some bastard child, and has no intelligence they haven't already found for themselves, why would the royal family want to reclaim her...?

Armin nearly poses the question himself, but Erwin stops him short with a bit of paper and some priceless information.

That's when the messenger bursts in upon them.

It takes all of Armin's self-control and willpower not to run out the door at the news of the Reeve's company's assassination. Eren was in the hands of the _Military Police_ , and not Nile's lot, but some other, rogue group... It makes no sense, there's nothing he can do, and yet that's exactly what he wants. He bites his lip so hard it nearly bleeds, as he listens to Erwin hand over the burdens of command to Hanji, giving himself up as a scapegoat to buy them more time.

"Wait, Erwin, one last thing--"

His former commander glances over him now, even though it was Hanji that called for his attention.

"Are you going to explain this now?"

She nods, and looks back to Armin. He knows what he has to do. He takes off his cape, his jacket, and finally his shirt, and for the first time he sees Erwin look truly surprised.

"So he's the one?"

"Yeah. Go on Armin, spread it out," Hanji encourages him, and he holds his wing out to full length, "the twerp's been hiding it for years, apparently. As you can see, he's not in the best shape, but... Well, you got the report."

"I did," he replies, and walks towards Armin, who instinctively shrinks back, "Arlert, was it?"

"Yes, sir."

Erwin looks over him with an appraising eye.

"I'm afraid I don't have any answers, and I'm sorry for that. It seems the Corps have failed you for quite some time. However, I must selfishly ask something of you..."

He rests a heavy hand on Armin's shoulder.

"Whatever it takes, you must survive."

Armin can only nod. Erwin nods back, out of what feels like respect, and turns for the door.

When it closes, Armin falls to his ass. He has no idea how he remained standing for all that. Erwin had a presence like a myth. He's still blinking the mist of reverence out of his eyes.

"You hear him?" Hanji says, and Armin nods again, more fervently this time, "that might have been his last order to you. You better carry it out."

"Yes, Commander Hanji."

Her expression twists, and she grips the piece of paper in her fist.

"Come on. We've got information, and you should still have a brain. Let's figure this out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this, please leave a comment or a kudos. I am a narcissistic, egotistical creature, stunned by the sight of myself in mirrors and hypnotized by the sound of my own voice, and I subsist entirely on the approval of strangers.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	4. Gunfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter rushed to you without a beta because I want to get it in before I go on vacation!
> 
> Not a whole lot about Armin having wings in here, but it's sort of... necessary angst chapter before more bond-y moments. It's actually sort of like a chapter from one of my other fics, re-done to fit the canon I've made here... Or maybe I can only write the same thing over and over... Oh well.
> 
> Also, I had to read the last ten chapters of the manga like, a dozen freaking times to get this timeline right. Titan is not an organized narrative, I will tell you that.

Hanji and Armin review the reports together. If the commotion on the streets is to be believed, every last member of the Reeves company has been assassinated... By the Recon Corps. They both know that this isn't true, but both the press and the people have no reason to believe anything else.

As a scapegoat, they are easy, convenient, and worst of all satisfying to blame; all the general public knew of the Recon Corps is that they "wasted" their taxes on feeding soldiers fated to a quick death, and they had a freak Titan in their midst. Even in Trost, where they owed him their lives for plugging the hole in Wall Rose, the higher classes still have not forgotten the destruction Eren caused in Sina while chasing the renegade Annie.

However, after scanning the list of the dead several times over, Armin notices something wrong. Fleugel Reeves is not accounted for. He hadn't given the man much thought at first, as he found him inexperienced and underwhelming, but now, he may very well end up being more important than he ever thought possible.

"Commander," he says, grabbing her attention, "this list, it's missing the President's son."

Hanji snatches it away from him without a word, and scans it several times over before smacking the heel of her hand to her forehead.

"Shit! You're right!"

Without a moment's hesitation, she leaps up to start attaching her gear back onto her harness. Armin's brow creases in worry.

"Are you sure you should be handling this personally? You've been passed the reigns of command; if something were to happen to you..."

"Do you see anyone here that can go instead of me?"

She has a point. The headquarters is practically empty. Even Moblit, who normally tags around her as if he was her shadow, was left behind so he could relay information from Levi's team back to her if need be. And Armin certainly can't help her, if it's a task that requires maneuvering.

Still, he looks to her with concern. Hanji lets out a sigh.

"I don't care what's official, or what he's said to me. Erwin is still our leader, and I intend to end this before his neck is in the noose."

She has such a look of determination that he can't possibly argue with her.

"Even if I were to fail, we still know where the line of command falls. The Corps isn't so weak or disorganized that we can't get on a few days without a figurehead."

Hanji shifts her belts around until she's satisfied with the way her gear is laying. Armin salutes her, and that manic grin that he's much more familiar with settles on her face. The sight of it is comforting.

"Then remember, at least, that I'm _personally_ counting on you to return."

"Hah!" she laughs as her spirits return to her, "don't worry about me, Arlert. I'll be around to conduct experiments on you for some time to come."

\--

Finding Fluegel thankfully goes off without a hitch. He accepts the fact that coming into the custody of the Recon Corps is the safest action for him to take, as the Military Police will surely kill him on the spot, but he's still unwilling to lift a finger in assistance to their cause. It causes them both frustration, but he's just like everyone else, vying for his own self-preservation. For now, they pocket their ace, and keep their ears to the ground.

Moblit returns the next day with welcome intelligence. Levi's team has been following a hearse with two coffins that they are nearly positive contain Eren and Historia. At the rate they are moving, they will be passing through Trost tomorrow. If everything goes well, they will be able to retrieve the two and rendezvous at Headquarters to re-hash their plans. The more incriminating evidence they're able to scrounge up against the Military Police, the better.

Hanji, Moblit and Armin all deploy to assist, making up the ground team. They equip their gear, while Armin is given a rifle. It feels particularly heavy in his grip as he primes it for firing beforehand. The three dress in heavy brown cloaks to hide their colors (and his wings), and take up positions in alleys at either side of the street they had determined the hearse would use to pass through the town. Armin with Hanji, and Moblit alone.

Long before the mission is even supposed to begin, the sound of shots being fired rings through the air.

"'The fuck?" Hanji says under her breath, and Moblit pointedly stares at her from across the street. She points up, and he nods, taking to the roofs to find out what's causing all the commotion.

They wait for him to return, tense and silent. Armin licks sweat off his upper lip, and wipes his hands off on his cloak. Shots continue to fire in the distance, slowly getting closer and closer to their position.

Moblit appears over the eaves of a nearby building. Someone with maneuver gear is on his tail, but with... Guns...?

Armin hits the floor on instinct. It's the correct decision to make, as the interloper fires another shot. Moblit cries out, but continues to close in on them. He rounds the corner into their alleyway, and their pursuer's eyes widen in shock as he sees Hanji too late. The blades they use are more than sharp enough to sever a man's neck in a single slash. Blood fountains from the headless body and sprays them all as it falls to the ground, dead in an instant. His head hits the pavement with a crunching squelch at the cartilage in his face breaks apart.

Armin has seen far more gruesome ends at the hands of Titans, but he still desperately wants to be sick. They have no time. Hanji hefts him to his legs by the nape of his cloak.

"Moblit?"

"I'm fine, just grazed," he replies, holding a hand over a slowly bleeding wound on the side of his arm, "it's not important. There were about a dozen men with maneuver gear just like this, tailing Captain Levi. We're switching to plan B."

Maneuver gear? Armin gathers his nerves to look at the corpse. He's never seen anything like it before. The gas tank is situated over the back, instead of the hips. There are no blade-boxes either. Instead, the man is wearing a belt of ammunition clips for the guns in each of his hands, which have triggers for maneuvering just like their blade-hilts do.

It doesn't make sense. Pistols like that would never be able to kill a Titan. The only thing gear like that could be good for is...

"Assassins?" Armin breathes.

"Looks like it," Hanji replies with her countenance set like stone, and wipes blood from her face, "shit. Alright. We're abandoning the hearse. Moblit, move to the second location. Arlert, with me."

Moblit launches off without a second thought, a testament to his bond with Hanji. Armin, however, needs another commanding tug away from the body to realize he needs to move with the utmost haste.

"What are we going to do now?" he asks as they sprint to their next spot of cover.

"Rearguard," Hanji explains, "pick off anyone we can from a distance as they pass through. There's no way they can risk stopping in Trost now."

 _Pick off_. This truly had become a battle of human attrition. Hanji had put an end to that gunman without hesitation, but could he do the same? That's what is being asked of him, as a member of the Recon Corps, believing in the future of humanity... Irony and tragedy weigh heavily on his mind.

They put themselves in great danger by moving in broad daylight, but aren't spotted as they stay on the ground, ducking between alleys and side streets to make it to the next thoroughfare. He can hear the sound of hooves against the cobblestone, of a carriage clattering down the streets.

The scene that passes by him is the pure chaos of a single moment. Captain Levi and Mikasa are maneuvering along with at least five men with that strange gear, harrying them away from Sasha and the cart. Jean is standing in back, with a rifle. Connie follows the carriage, and has a lead of several horses.

A woman lands in the cart. They're going far too fast for Armin to properly sight his rifle-- he might end up giving friendly fire if he blindly shoots now. Jean just has to...

His stomach goes cold. He knows, somehow, that Jean _won't_. There's something in him, kindness or pride that will keep him from defending himself. Gunpowder flashes and Armin's heart stops.

Jean's body rolls out of the cart, and falls limply to the ground. The rest of the squad rushes past without him.

Hanji leaps into the air to follow Levi, and Moblit is just behind her. She's steeled herself against losses, Armin reasons, she can't be sentimental over one fallen soldier. A cloud of dust covers the area, and he's not sure if he should approach, even though his whole body is quivering with the need. He takes one step forward, and immediately retracts it when he hears the sound of someone maneuvering just above his head, ducking for cover instead.

One of the assassins lands before Jean's body, and toes him over. Armin's hopes rise when he hears him gasp in pain.

"Tch," he spits, and begins to lift one of his guns, "she never finishes the job right."

It happens in slow motion. Armin has his rifle ready. His finger trembles. He pictures that man's head rolling across the ground, just like the man Hanji had just killed. He pictures Jean, full of bullets, unrecognizable.

He knows what picture he'd rather live with.

The bang of his own gun firing is louder than he remembers from training. His bullet flies true, and impacts with the man's skull with a muffled, fleshy _thud_. The sound of his brains splattering against the ground and nearby buildings is like a splash of wash water being tossed out the window. His lifeless body twists, and falls directly on top of Jean.

Jean coughs and splutters, and Armin isn't sure how much of the blood pooling around him is his or from the man that he dispatched. He forces himself to lie in wait, knowing that if he rushes out now, after he's drawn attention to himself, and one of those assassins spots him, he's killed the both of them. He gathers every last ounce of his self control, pushes his nausea down, and waits for Hanji and Moblit to return.

" _Arlert!_ "

At the distant sound of her voice, he dashes out from hiding, heaves the corpse off of Jean's body, and starts checking him for wounds. Blood still oozes from a bullet hole in his side. As he is now, all Armin can do is press his hands against him, and hope to slow the bleeding. Jean's eyes fly open in a moment of white-hot, breath-sucking pain, and gains a second of clarity.

"A-Armin?"

"Don't talk," he shakily shushes him, feeling his wings trying to spread in an instinct to cover the both of them, "You've been shot-- do you know if it was clean?"

His brow knits together in concentration and pain, and he shakes his head. Armin presses his hands in a little harder in hopes of feeling something, but has no luck. He looks up as Hanji lands beside him, still glancing around as if someone may come down at them at any moment. She doesn't even acknowledge the faceless corpse, pushed to the side.

"How bad is he?"

"Shot once, in the side. I don't know if it's hit any vitals. He thinks the bullet's still in there," Armin replies, biting his lip and shaking his head, feeling his hands grow slimy from the wound pulsing under his grip, "what happened on your end?"

"I think we got all of those gunmen, but there's no way to be sure. Moblit went with Levi's team, since they're down a man now," she rattles off as she sheathes her blades and tucks her triggers under her arms. Hanji kneels down to lift Jean up, over her shoulders and behind her neck, so she can move as quickly as possible, "I can't wait to see how the Crown is going to cover up this shitstorm. They've got ten dead hit men lying in the streets, with that gear... This has 'Military Police' written all over it."

_And I killed one of them._

It's not a thought Armin has so much as an immense feeling of loss, like a great wave. He forgets where he is, and what he's doing, replaying the scene in his head-- until Jean groans, and he snaps back to attention. _No time_ , he reminds himself, and swallows bile.

"It's all about who gets to see it, and what the press releases..." he remarks absently, expecting nothing to come of it, but Hanji suddenly flashes an unstable grin.

\--

As soon as Hanji confirms that the bullet is still in Jean, she insists on surgery before the wound has a chance to fester. It will be an extremely difficult operation. They are lacking in instruments, and even worse, in a method of anesthesia. All they can do is dose him heavily in alcohol and physically hold him down. This falls on Hanji, since she is the stronger of the two of them. Armin has to cut him open.

They make small fun of him being able to drink as much vine as he wants, in a desperate act to lighten the mood, knowing what looms on the horizon. Armin lets himself have a taste. It burns all the way down.

He can barely stand the task, in no state of mind to be wielding a scalpel on a conscious patient. He sets his jaw so hard he thinks it might break as he makes the first incision, to widen the wound. By the time he's haplessly digging through glistening flesh, looking for a missing bullet, listening to Jean scream in a way he doesn't know a man could, he openly cries. But he doesn't dare stop, or slow down. He won't let him suffer for a moment longer than he absolutely has to.

When he finally cuts the bullet out, lodged deeply in the muscle of his side, Jean's voice has become nothing but a soundless whistle of air in his throat. Armin is nearly up to his wrists in blood. He stares at his hands, and something pushes up his throat. He bails from his bedside seat to vomit into a nearby bucket.

"It's okay, Arlert. I've got it from here," Hanji calls back to him, holding Jean down through the last of his pained spasms as he settles into a state of hazy half-consciousness.

Armin nods, and sits up to lean against the nearby wall. His mind is a maelstrom. He doesn't know how to sort out his feelings, only that they all seem to be happening all at once, overwhelming his senses. What had he done? He begins to shake.

Hanji finishes up, cleaning the wound, stitching it together and laying a bandage over it. Armin really had to dig in there, and the muscle was badly damaged. Jean won't be able to maneuver properly for some time, with his core ruined like this.

She sighs, and runs a hand through her hair, looking over at Armin. He's giving Jean a run for his money with that pale expression of his. She crosses the room to crouch down beside him, and puts a comforting hand on his back.

"I'm sorry you had to do that."

"Do what?" he replies, wanting to wipe flecks of bile away from the corners of his mouth, but his hands are such a mess he'd end up smearing blood all over his face.

"You know what I mean."

Armin releases a shaking exhale, and turns to look at her. Hanji is... he thinks there's a part of her that's dead. It's not as clear in her eyes as it is in people like Mikasa or Levi, since she covers it up with insane enthusiasm, but it's still there. Perhaps this pain is being caused by that part of him dying as well. He can't go back. That person is dead, and he is also beginning to mortify.

He vomits again, and Hanji rubs his back.

"That's right. Let it all out," she holds his hair away from his face with her other hand, "you've had enough for one day."

He does, until he is empty. Armin makes no complaint as she lifts him under his shoulders and to his feet, over to the basin of still warm water they used to sanitize their instruments, and hands him a fresh cloth. He washes until his hands are raw and pink.

"How?" he croaks, and Hanji understands him without another word of explanation.

"...Everyone is different," she replies, with an even tone of voice he has not heard before, "how I cope isn't how you would. You have to find your own way."

"All I can say is... things like right and wrong don't matter when you take a human life. Those are concepts we just come up with to make ourselves feel better about what we do. Everyone has a different set of morals they live by. But death is too heavy to be weighed like that"

"You were given the choice between two people living, and you chose Jean. It's not a choice anyone should ever have to make, but you did. That's all it is. Fate fell in your lap, and you dealt with it."

Her truth is sobering, as he watches his vermillion-tinted reflection in the basin of bloodied water. He looks older, somehow.

"Get some rest, Arlert. There are plenty of empty beds. We'll continue in the morning. I can take care of something myself tonight."

"What? The sun is already down..."

"Yeah, and that's when they print the morning paper."

\--

Sleep does not come easily. Armin takes his shirt off, and allows his wings to relax, but the refreshing feeling is not enough to comfort him. He catches a half-hour of rest, wakes up in a sweat, and either paces or grooms himself until the wave of anxiety subsides, and goes back to sleep, repeating the process until dawn cracks over the horizon. By then he's far too restless to continue this exhausting game, and gets up to see how Jean is doing.

It fills him with apprehension. Whether a Titan bite or a bullet hole, deep lacerations can easily become infected. When that happens, there's little that can be done besides amputation, which isn't an option in this situation.

He opens his door, silently, and closes it behind him with just as much care. Morning light is shining in from the window and casting over Jean. From a distance, he can see that his breathing is slow and steady. Armin creeps closer, and lays his hand over his forehead. He's only a little warm.

"Hey... Jean," he strokes his hair a few times, "can you wake up?"

He seems like he wants to. He moves his lips, and his eyelids flutter. But as soon as the light hits his eyes, he groans, and closes them tightly.

"Oh, sorry," Armin looks about-- there are curtains on the window, but for now, he spreads his wing over Jean to shade him, "all that vine... you're probably hung over."

He hoarsely grumbles a little bit more, licking his dry lips, and Armin gets the picture. Another clean basin of water had been brought into the room the night before, with a fresh washcloth. He wets his lips with it, and when Jean opens his mouth, rings some of the water out to give him a drink. Even the smallest trickle seems to revive him, and he opens his eyes again. One of his brows perks up at his canopy of dark feathers, and he turns his head a bit to face Armin.

"We... really have to stop meeting like this," he rasps, voice like sandpaper, and Armin rolls his eyes.

"It's uncanny," he agrees, and stands back up. The light falls on his face again, and Jean grimaces, but the first thing Armin does is draw the blinds in, "it seems we're both accident prone."

"'Wasn't an accident," Jean quietly protests, and Armin shakes head, pulling back the sheet to look at his wound. He removes the bandage, and gently presses here and there. It doesn't look red, and doesn't seem to be inflamed either. He breathes a sigh of relief.

"I was afraid with how hard I had to search for the bullet, infection would have set in but... you look alright. Thank God."

Armin puts new dressings over the wound, and covers Jean. He gives him a proper glass of water to drink, lifting just head instead of his whole body so his torn muscles would remain immobile. He seems much more alert and at ease when he's finished.

"What happened? Who were those guys, with the guns..."

"We can only assume they were with the Military Police, considering the gear they were using. They must've caught wind of our operation and were hoping to put a stop to it."

Of course, one does not simply "stop" the Recon Corps. Armin wonders where Hanji is now, laying out more schemes...

"The rest of the squad got away, as far as we know. Moblit went to join them, since you..."

Jean can't make eye contact with him. Armin's hands curl into nervous fists on his lap.

"I'm sorry. I fucked up."

That wasn't the answer Armin was expecting to hear. He looks up, slightly dazed.

"This isn't some kind of kid's game, like knights and dragons. Heroes fighting monsters... Bullshit! _They_ came after us, _they_ totally meant to kill us all, and I still couldn't pull the fucking trigger!" Jean jams the heels of his hands into his eyes, limbs trembling, voice breaking, "I looked her in the eyes and I just fucking couldn't!"

"Don't!" Armin grabs his arms, but doesn't want to hurt him, so he just... holds him there, "just... don't. All you did... You chose her life over your own. You're a kind person, Jean. That's all it is..."

He slowly gives in, letting his arms slide down, covering his face. Armin hopes that he hasn't ripped a stitch.

"You shot that guy, didn't you. The one that nearly had me."

"...How do you know?"

Jean peers out from behind his arms.

"You came to me out of nowhere, after he suddenly dropped like that. And... You look different."

Maybe it is dead now, then. He feels it leaden in his limbs, in his eyelids.

"I made my choice. So don't ruin it by overexerting yourself."

Bothered by his own clipped tone, Armin grimaces, and tries to communicate that he's alright by stroking Jean's hair again.

"It was worth doing. The guilt of  knowing you died on my watch, not being able to speak to you now, would be far worse than... whatever I'm feeling right now."

Jean's cheeks flush, standing out against his pale skin.

"...Thanks. I know I'm being a shit, and... fuck, I don't know what else to say. You did something awful to save my life..."

"You don't have to say anything else,” Armin assures him, in a way that bars response; he doesn't want to talk about it right now "I get it."

Reluctantly, Jean gives up and abandons pursuing his line of questioning any further. He sighs, wincing as his side throbs in pain.

"How about you apologize for shoving your hands in my open wound like you were digging for gold, and we call it even?"

The smallest of smiles fights its way onto Armin's face, and he nods.

"Alright. Deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this, please leave a comment or a kudos. I am a narcissistic, egotistical creature, stunned by the sight of myself in mirrors and hypnotized by the sound of my own voice, and I subsist entirely on the approval of strangers.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	5. North Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having to unclog my pipes AGAIN, after a long break from writing fic (life, you know), I tried to write something for Jearmin week on Tumblr. I failed miserably at meeting the deadline, since I didn't even start until after the event was over, but hey! At least I got something done. This isn't very good, I admit, I'm out of practice, but I don't think it's fair to leave it homeless either.
> 
>  **This takes place several years after the beginning of this fic**. There aren't any spoilers from the plot, so it can be read separately fairly easily. If you'd like a visual reference of matured!Armin, which I had commissioned, it can be found here: [a link to my Tumblr](http://otterbeans.tumblr.com/post/91756269270/a-commission-from-the-lovely-kbearart-you-should).

Armin perches himself as high as possible, clawed toes and fingers digging into the bark of the ancient tree, and looks out towards the rolling stretch of forest before him as he pulls his goggles up off his eyes.

The absolute vastness of world outside the walls never fails to send him into a state of awe. He can fly as high and far as he wants, and there is never anything to impede him. Just when he thinks, _this is it, I must have gone as far as there is to go,_  something completely new opens up to him, and he can't help but wonder what else is waiting beyond where his eye can see. Every kilometer traversed is a brand new wonder to him.

He leans against the trunk of the tree he has chosen to rest on, and mantles his wings around him to block out the turbulence of higher altitudes as he retrieves his cartography tools from his rucksack. In order to stay light enough to fly, he can't take whole lot with him at once. But making long-range maps for the Recon Corps is his main duty now, so his compass, paper, and measuring stick take top priority, even moreso than rations and his heavy waterskin.

When he has the luxury, Armin also likes to take samples of the new plants he finds, by pressing a leaf or a flower between two pieces of paper. When he first set off outside the walls, he could come back with dozens of these specimens from just one trip, sometimes dumping food or water to displace the extra weight. Now, that's too dangerous a risk, but he still manages to bring back two or three especially beautiful examples every time he returns.

As he sketches out the land he has just surveyed to proper scale in comparison to the rest of the map he's making, he hears the familiar rumble of giant footsteps. Armin lifts a wing to observe the Titan activity below. He's far too high up to be caught, and ever since taking on this role for the Recon Corps, he's become quite skilled at judging the intelligence of a Titan at first glance as well. He isn't in any danger from this one. Not to mention most Titans simply ignore him, either aware that he would be impossible to catch, or perhaps mistaking him for a very large bird-- nothing they would want to eat.

Either way, this Titan seems to be lumbering about particularly slowly. It looks to be about ten-class, and doesn't have any visible malformations that would impede its ability to move. Armin pulls out his sketchbook to make note before he gets too engrossed in his current task. What would cause this kind of behavior? He looks about himself, and sees no other Titans, or irregularities in the landscape. Then he looks up, something he did not do very often before he was just learning how to fly.

Ah, the sun. Winter had set in some time ago, and the days are short. The sun is still visible, but its heat seems very far away. Perhaps the lack of direct light causes the Titans to become drowsy? He jots this idea down as well, before a sudden gust of wind nearly knocks him off of his perch. He pulls his wings in as close as possible to eliminate resistance.

That was the northern wind. Armin scans the horizon for incoming weather, and sees heavy clouds rolling in the distance. The first true snow of the season. He isn't sure how far it will travel, but it would be best to wrap up his business here and follow his tracks back to the current base of operations.

Armin begins to sketch his map down with an edge of desperation, finishing the last of the details before the weather can catch up to him. He packs away all his tools, makes sure everything is properly settled, puts on his goggles and pulls the hood of his modified mantle over his head. There isn't a Recon Corps insignia on the back, due to the way it's been cut up, but who needs that when you've got the real wings on your back? He spreads them wide to catch upward drafts, and leaps off his perch with a few powerful beats.

The winds are already starting to become complicated, blowing this way and that instead of reliably behind him. He checks the compass on his wrist, and tacks south and east, back in the direction of camp, watching as a herd of deer cut their losses and head for the depths of the forest as protection from the elements.

\--

The blizzard hit their encampment yesterday. Thankfully, they aren't living in tents anymore; a proper barracks, mess hall and latrine had been erected during the fall anticipating the winter months, and so far it's holding up fine. Soldiers are being sent to work chopping firewood, chinking any drafty holes in the living quarters, and keeping snow off the winter crops instead of any Recon Corps "business," but that's just the reality of winter. Things are going to slow down for awhile, this far away from the Walls. They have just enough men to have hands for all these chores, as well as their usual rounds guarding the fortifications that surrounded the camp, keeping an eye out for Titans.

Jean isn't particularly concerned for himself. The squad that he had been given charge of is transitioning well to life with the Corps. They're a fairly determined bunch, if sometimes a little bit lazy. But he's found that the best way to motivate them into taking care of the chores they'd rather avoid is to pitch in himself. It gets them guilty enough to move their butts; and to be honest, he's not the type to call down orders from on high and then sit around doing nothing. That's one way to get your crew to resent you in seconds. He has the time to help them _and_ take care of his personal responsibilities, so it's not a big deal.

Today, though, he is worried for someone else. Armin went out on reconnaissance days ago, and has yet to return. It isn't unusual for him to take his time when going out on his solo missions, as he can usually fend for himself, but this weather is bad news. He knows it isn't good for flying, and although he has an odd way of keeping his body warm even with the bare uniform he wears, protecting himself from frostbite, freezing to death is still a real possibility.

It's the second night after the blizzard began, and Jean is writing down reports of his uneventful day when one of his cadets knocks sharply at his door.

"Excuse me!"

"It's unlocked," he calls back, straightening up from hunching over his desk, and rolling the cricks out of his neck, "come in."

Pasloe is one of his more reliable subordinates. She opens the door fast and firm, trying to stand at attention while also looking a bit frantic.

"Arlert has arrived back from his mission, sir! However, he's still outside, and it seems the others are having some trouble moving him..."

"Right," Jean lets out a silent breath of relief, and pushes up from his desk, grabbing his weighty winter cloak from a peg on the wall, "Where did he land?"

"Over by the crop-feild's tool shed, sir."

"Good. Bring a hot meal and something warm to drink to this room. After that, you're dismissed."

The girl gives him a quick salute, and walks off at a clip in the direction of the mess hall. He wraps his cloak around himself without securing any of the fasteners and steps outside.

It doesn't take long to spot where Armin has crash-landed. There's a bit of commotion, as well as a few people carrying torches that guide him straight to the scene. The pile of snow that they had been using as a dump from the excess on the crops has been destroyed. That must be where he first touched down.

"Squad Leader Kirstein, over here."

Some of the hanger-bys wave him over to a small circle of people gathered around... There he is. Wings splayed, half curled in the snow, Armin blearily looks about, making small movements with his wings and limbs to try and get closer to any of the people surrounding him, but they all skittishly avoid him. Anger tinges the breath that seethes between Jean's teeth.

"For fuck's sake, are you good for anything?"

All of the soldiers jump in unison at the sound of his voice, unaware of his approach. Some run back to their posts, or straight to the hills. It's common knowledge that Jean is the one responsible for the particulars of Armin's wellbeing, and that they had been in the same squad when they were cadets. Whoever treated the winged man badly would certainly feel repercussions from higher up.

Jean trudges past those still dumbly standing around with a huff, taking off his cloak and kneeling down in the snow in front of Armin.

"Come on, come here. I've got you," he mutters to Armin, coaxing him into its fur-lined depths, already warm from his body. Armin slowly crawls up to him, and Jean does his best to wrap him in the cloak, despite the impediment of his wings. He commands one of the cadets shifting around with a torch to come closer with a jerk of his neck, "you with me, Armin? Say something."

For awhile, Armin just blinks, and breathes. Jean knows he has a tendency to turn slow and stupid when he's cold, so he starts to vigorously rub his limbs through the fabric of the cloak. It's only then that Armin begins to shiver.

"Jean..."

"Hey. Good to see you're alive."

He nods, and burrows deep into Jean. He raises his wings for a sharp _flap_ to rid himself of gathering snow, and all the cadets give him another few feet of personal space. Jean blows air through his lips in exasperation.

"I'll get you inside. Can you climb on?"

Jean turns around and shows Armin his back, giving him his hands to support himself with. He can feel his sharp claws dig through his uniform as Armin tries to get a steady hold of his shoulders, but doesn't complain.

"Ready? 1, 2, _3!"_

Armin is light, surprisingly so. Jean never gets used to it no matter how many times he's felt his weight. What's more of a burden is his unwieldy wings, catching the sharp wind and blowing him this way and that as he tries to get him across the grounds. The cadet that he had first motioned over has grown some balls, apparently, and is following them closely with his torch. Jean makes a mental note to commend him later.

They make it to his quarters just as Pasloe is leaving, having completed her orders. She isn't afraid of Armin, and holds the door open for the both of them. Jean nods to her in thanks.

"Doorway. Tuck 'em in."

Despite a wingspan that would make an albatross jealous, Armin can still pull his in to the width of his shoulders if he really tries. They make it inside without breaking anything.

Armin groans in relief at the instant rise in temperature. Jean smirks as he slowly sloughs off his back, takes off his hood and goggles, and shakes his whole body from head-to-toe, like a dog would, showering snow all over his floor. Then he takes a few shivering steps towards the furnace before falling down to his butt again. He holds his scaled hands out towards the warmth of the fire, and fluffs his feathers about himself to capture any escaping heat. Even his crest is gathering closely around his numb cheeks and nose.

The warm food and drink that Jean ordered is sitting neatly on his desk and steaming merrily. He picks up the mug of what smells like mulled cider, and walks over to hand it to Armin.

"Sorry about those idiots," he offers as apology, and also to catch his attention. Armin looks up. He gratefully accepts the drink with outstretched arms, and brings it close to his chest to blow on, "letting you lie in the snow like that. Honestly. I was about ready to knock some heads together... but I know their names. I think I'll have them on duty in the latrines tomorrow. Nothing like digging through frozen shit to brighten your day."

Armin puffs a few amused breaths of laughter into his cider as his consciousness comes around. The shivering stops, and his limbs ache, but it's much better than the confused numbness he'd been lost in trying to fly his way back to the encampment. He really thought he might not make it... But instead of lingering on that fact, he takes in the comforts of his surroundings-- a warm drink, a crackling fire, the promise of a soft bed-- and lets that anxiety fade away.

"You sure sound like a real Captain."

" _Ha ha_ ," Jean rasps, never having lost his grasp on venomous sarcasm, "I still haven't mastered that two-hours-of-sleep look. That's what really scares the fresh recruits. You know, the whole _look at me, this is your future_ moment."

Armin shakes his head in amusement, and pulls his crest back so he can take a drink. The cider is tolerably hot, spicy, and just barely alcoholic. He closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath as the feeling of it sliding down his throat warms his whole body.

"...I really am sorry about that."

He turns his head to Jean again, who is looking away with a frustrated expression.

"About what?"

"The recruits," he growls, showing his teeth, "they should know better. Or I should have taught them better. To treat you that way."

"I wasn't thinking about it," Armin admits plainly, "It's not as though they're actively unkind to me. They're just scared. Besides, your squad doesn't mind me at all."

"Do you even hear yourself talk sometimes?"

Jean gives him a genuine look, and Armin sighs. Of course, he shouldn't have to use words like 'actively unkind' and 'doesn't mind me,' ever. But he's been so used to being segregated as an entity separate from humans, from the rest of the Corps, for so long that his normal frame of mind has changed drastically.

"It's okay. My place is in the Corps. I'm able to use my abilities for the good of humanity. And everyone I care about is here as well."

Everyone he trained with in the 104th. Eren and Mikasa. Even if they all have settled into different roles, and are often far from each other.

And _even then_ , Armin always has Jean to return to. Jean, who knows him, who's always known him, before he was wings and feathers, scales and claws. The person who saw him that very first day and accepted him with only the barest of questions, and helped him _accept himself_ as he began to cross that line between human and something else entirely. It is no exaggeration to say that their closeness cannot be replicated.

"I can't imagine how I'd be treated anywhere else."

Jean looks unsatisfied, hardening his gaze at Armin. But when he gets nothing but a few blinks in return, he turns his eyes to the ceiling, sighs, and softens up.

"Fine, fine. I give," he grumbles, making an _as it goes_ motion with his hands, "change of subject. Find anything worth risking your life for this time?"

"Not particularly, sorry," Armin chuckles softly, and begins to rifle through his bag for various bits of paper and canvas, which Jean walks up and leans over to see, "I was able to stretch the map north and west by another few kilometers. That forest I found last time stretches much farther than I first believed; it's rich with good wood for building. And I did spot a bit of unusual Titan activity, but nothing alarming."

"What kind of activity?"

"Well, it was more of a lack thereof," Armin ponders, "I noticed that despite being in direct sunlight, a Titan was moving rather slowly. It was of average size and build, so there was no real reason for it to acting that way-- It made me wonder if Titans become more lethargic in winter, when the sun is further away from the Earth."

"That's a hypothesis," Jean hums, and crouches down to gather up all of Armin's notes and cartography work, "It would be good news for us, at any rate. With the weather getting worse, we're more stranded out here than ever. We'd be up a creek if the Titans suddenly got too aggressive, when we're so far away from back-up... What's this?"

He carefully picks up a pressed flower with both hands, so he doesn't ruin it. There are several tiny white blossoms sprouting from hardy green stems.

"This was still blooming?"

"It was," Armin smiles as Jean goes to hang the specimen on a clothesline running near his furnace, "I was rather impressed, so I took a sample. I wonder if the snow would have killed the plant, but it was enduring the cold rather well."

"Captain Zoe's going to have plenty to keep her busy the next time she visits. This map is almost getting out of control. Here," Jean takes the tray of still-warm food off of his desk and sets it in front of Armin, trading it for his notes, "you eat. I've got to sort all of this out in today's report."

Never one to turn down a hot meal, Armin breaks his small hunk of bread in half and dunks it in his stew. But he looks up to Jean as he sits down at his desk.

"Do you need any help? It's rather late."

"Nah," he dips his pen into a dirty inkwell, "nothing happened today before you flew in, so I was already finished. I just have to tack this on the end."

"If you say so."

He's hungry and tired enough to be a little indifferent. A real plate of food from the mess hall is wonderful after days of flying on naught but rations and wild plants. Armin forces himself to eat slower than normal, and relish the taste. Nothing is sadder than seeing the bottom of your bowl, but he's sated enough.

Now finished, Armin casts a few surreptitious glances towards Jean's back. He's not picking up on it, so he really must be fine with doing the report on his own. Armin stands, now feeling much steadier on his feet, and goes to rummage through a small cupboard for a few things. He pulls out a basin, cloth, and brush.

He hasn't groomed in days. He's not putting it off any longer. The natural oil on his feathers is gathering dirt, and he hates the feeling of it caking up. Armin opens the door to gather some snow in the basin, (Jean does look up from his work for a second then, but looks back before Armin can see) and then brings it back over to the fire, where a kettle hangs. He grabs its handle with the cloth and pours the hot water over the snow, melting it.

Armin cleans his hands and feet first, getting all the debris out from under his claws and between the ridges of his scaly skin. This particular deformity only runs up to his elbows and knees respectively, so it doesn't take too long. Then he pulls off his cloak and shirt, wets his brush a little, and starts to gently groom his wings.

This is a task that _will_ take some time, as he has a lot of wing to cover. But there's something about the repetitive motions that quiets his mind. The sound of his brush, Jean's pen, the fires pop, and the wind outside all melt together in a wonderful mix of white noise as they sit in what would otherwise be companionable silence.

Armin just finishes his dark wing, perhaps a half an hour later, when Jean finally puts down his pen. He looks up towards him as he raises his arms in the air to stretch his back and sighs in satisfaction.

"Done! Finally."

Jean turns in his seat. The both of them share a small smile. Armin flicks the last of the dampness off his wing.

"What about you?"

"Only halfway, unfortunately," Armin glances down, and then back up, the faintest traces of shame on his face, "do you have any other responsibilities to take care of?"

"Is that some kind of offer?"

Armin looks away very pointedly now, properly embarrassed, and Jean enjoys every second he allows himself to. But he won't tease him for very long.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll take care of the other one for you," he sits down, crossing his legs, and catches the beginnings of a blush on Armin's cheeks, "where's that brush?"

He hands it to him over his back, and helpfully spreads his white wing. Jean knows just where and how to start, taking the length of it under his hand and firmly brushing it with the other.

Armin's crest fluffs up around his face unbidden, and he closes his eyes. Jean knows all of his spots, where the dirt tends to gather the worst, and where it feels the best to be stroked. He even remembers the crick in his wing, from having broken it what felt like so many years ago... And the areas that are a little erogenous, he respectfully avoids.

A rumble rises up in his chest that he doesn't bother to fight back down. He can _hear_ Jean smirking, but he doesn't care. The feeling of his fingers so carefully picking through the roots of his feathers, gently spreading them out and working them loose, is too perfect. Only Jean, and perhaps Eren, will touch him in this way, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't a little starved for it.

"Hey."

Jean gives him a tap on the head with the wooden back of the brush. Armin blinks awake from his stupor, and looks over his shoulder. Oh. Is he already done? He gives his wing a good jostling shake to settle everything back down.

"Turn around."

Armin doesn't ask why, he just obeys. He faces him, yawns, and Jean carefully takes the band holding his hair back out so he can comb that as well. It's not in terrible shape, so it only takes a moment. Then he fingers through his crest, a hand at either side of his cheeks. He gives those downy plumes a good rough scratch.

" _Oh_ , Jean..." now the rumble turns into a warbling sound, and Armin leans his face hard into Jean's touch, "please, don't stop. You're the best."

"You're not bad either, buddy," Jean snorts, as Armin literally melts into his hands. He looks up bashfully even though he can't help himself.

"It doesn't bother you? I know it's a bit strange..."

"Nah," he shrugs, misting over a little, "you get lonely, right? I don't mind."

...That feels better than any good crest-scratching. Armin lets his eyes close again.

"Thank you."

"--Alright, and up...!"

Armin gives a quiet screech as he feels arms wrap around his middle, and lift him up off the floor. His wings flap about as he instinctually tries to right himself, making it really hard to keep a steady hold, but Jean just laughs, and dumps him on the bed.

"Get some sleep, Armin. You look exhausted."

He shakes himself roughly to right his senses, blinking his sight straight just as Jean turns his back. Armin reaches out to grab his sleeve.

"What about you?"

"Hey, it'll rip..." Jean grasps Armin's hand, "don't worry, I'll find an empty bed in the barracks."

Before he can say another word, Armin reaches his wings out, and gathers Jean in. He rolls his eyes and sighs.

"Not fair. It's like you've got an extra set of arms."

"You should sleep in your own bed," Armin insists, dragging him down, "either _I'll_ go and find a place to sleep in the barracks, or... We'll share."

He wraps his arms around Jean, and mantles his wings around the both of them, effectively hiding them both from the rest of the world. Jean sighs, more resigned than put-upon.

"We're not cadets anymore, Armin. People notice this kind of thing."

 _Let them notice._ Armin thinks, but does not say, and buries his face in Jean's back, tightening his hold around his waist.

"...Just for tonight. Okay?"

He nods, willing to take ultimatums if it will gain him a night of comfort. He relinquishes his grip on Jean, and scoots away on the bed, crossing and tucking his wings behind him, trying to take up as little space as possible. Jean takes a moment to remove his uniform and harness before joining him.

Armin stays clear of his personal bubble, trying to avoid touching his skin with his scaly hands or feet. But when Jean realizes he's taking up 3/4ths of the bed, he reaches behind him, takes his wrist, and pulls him to roll over closer to the middle of the mattress.

He gives up trying to put an invisible wall between them. By the time the sun rises high enough to break through the still-snowing clouds, Armin has thrown a wing over the both of them, and Jean is kept pleasantly warm by its canopy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once I get the timeline straight in my head again (hello AoT wikia, how have you been) I plan to add a real chapter to this fic soon, so look forward to it!


	6. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that took a long time. Longer than I expected.
> 
> Canon had sort of written me into a corner for awhile, and I need to wait it out until I could continue. And since this is a monthly manga, well... That takes time. It was only recently that I felt confident enough that I could move the narrative forward!
> 
> This takes place after chapter 4, of course, 5 continues to be a stand-alone. You may notice slight variations from the canon in this chapter as well-- and that's because Armin and Jean weren't there like they were supposed to be! So of course some things would change.
> 
> Thanks for your patience! Let's get this show on the road!

Relations are quiet, but not strained, between Jean and Armin after that. Jean dozes in and out of consciousness, struggling with a full-blown fever by afternoon, and Armin doesn't feel inclined to bother him while he needs his rest. At this point, they would just be re-hashing what little they know about the current situation, or making groundless speculation at the positions of their comrades. All things he doesn't want to talk about. He doesn't have an appetite, nor does he feel like he could sleep, no matter how little he got of it last night.

So he busies himself with trying to modify some clothing to fit around his body and give his wings their full range of motion. He's starting to feel rather stupid going about shirtless because he doesn't want to tie them down. There has to be a way to regain his modesty without having to cut and sling his wings again.

Armin finds a plain, solid shirt in supply that's just slightly too big for him. Careful not to snip any of the stitching, he makes a large hole in the back of a shirt, but only so far down, so that the edge of the fabric doesn't rub up against where the base of his wing meets the base of his back. He also leaves a strip of fabric behind his neck and shoulders for extra support. Then he cuts it all down the middle, sewing in hems and sewing on buttons so he can get it on and off easily. Armin tests it several times, buttoning and unbuttoning behind his back until he's completely satisfied with his ability to do so.

By the time the sun is going down, he's managed to finish a tunic of sorts. He puts it on and stretches his good wing up and down, this way and that, letting himself enjoy the freedom of movement his new piece of clothing provides him.

"'Looks good."

Armin isn't startled when Jean punctures the silence in the room. He knows he was being watched. For the past couple of hours, he could feel eyes on him here and there as he did his precarious work. Jean couldn't stay awake for very long for any stretch of time, but because of these occasional glances he knows what Armin's been doing all day.

"Thank you," he replies, feeling a little more talkative and calm now that his mind has been occupied for awhile. He shifts himself from the chair he's been sitting in to the edge of Jean's bed, "I felt ridiculous, going around shirtless... But at the same time, it's strange. I just made something with the express purpose of letting my wings out, when I've been struggling to hide them my whole life."

Jean makes a noise in agreement, too dazed to properly reply. But he probably understands. Armin has been finding comfort in his new confidant as of late, and places a gentle hand over one of his own to show his appreciation.

The sound of racing footsteps grows closer and closer from the halls outside, catching Armin's attention. He perks up, and watches the door until Hange busts in.

" _Finally!_ It's about time something goes right for the Corps!"

She kicks the door closed behind her, and the racket has Jean blinking up at the ceiling in muzzy confusion.

"I'm awake..." he mumbles, and Hange blows air through her lips in amused exasperation.

"Sure you are, kiddo," she laughs, entering the room at a clip, her gear clattering noisily. She doesn't bother to take it off, "How is he? That was a nasty wound. Wasn't sure if he'd still be with us today."

"He's as one could expect," Armin tries to close Jean's eyes with a swipe of his hand, and he paws up at his face in irritation, "he's feverish, but I don't think the wound itself is infected. He's just not well."

"I wouldn't be either. We damaged him pretty bad getting that bullet out," Hange mutters, and wastes no time pulling back the sheets and removing Jean's bandaging so she can get a good look at things, pressing and prodding here and there, "great, it doesn't look angry at all. You're just tuckered out, aren'tcha, buddy?"

Jean grumbles, and Hange pats his head, both tender and patronizing. Only she could manage such a gesture.

"Armin, can you re-apply some of that salve and bandage him up again? Oh, and get some yarrow syrup and broth into him if you can. I've got until morning to get to Sina with this info, and it's one hell of a ride... A fresh horse should be ready for me any second now."

"Wait, what happened?" Armin asks, as he gets up to do as she commanded, and she sits down for a moment of rest, "you said you were going to the presses..."

"Sure did. And it wasn't easy to get them to cooperate, let me tell you, I swear every single person inside these blasted walls is under the Monarchy's thumb in one way or another. But I was able to catch one of those MP bastards red-handed, and half of Trost was there to see it. I've officially cleared the Corp's name of the mass-murdering of the Reeve's company."

"Seriously?"

Armin looks up from his work in shock. Not disbelief, she's pulled off crazier things before, but that was a gambit managed in time that he didn't even know they had. Hange nods with a devious grin.

"The chairman of the newspaper written in this district was right there to see it. People don't need much convincing when the truth is right in front of them. So if I can get this to Erwin in time..."

"We'll be able to save him," Armin finishes her sentence for her.

"That's the plan, anyways. Who knows what kind of ridiculous excuse might be made up to sweep this all under the rug. But I'll be damned if we don't have a back-up plan to cover ourselves--."

"--Commander Hange! Everything's prepared and ready to go!"

A solider Armin hasn't met before rushes into the room. Hange rolls her eyes.

"It's still Squad Leader, as long as I can help it," she heaves herself out of her chair, "alright, Arlert. We might not see each other again for awhile, but as long as you're in HQ, you'll get information on the state of affairs eventually."

"Yes, ma'am," he nods to her, unable to salute with his hands full of bandaging, "I wish you all the best, for humanity!"

Jean raises his hand and says something unintelligible with a rubbery wave. Hange cackles with laughter on her way out the door. Armin heaves a sigh.

"I don't think you should bother with communication until you're fully conscious again."

"...Whatever."

\--

Armin thanks his stars he's able to find some herbal remedies in the same cabinets he found the vine earlier. Yarrow is the most common treatment for fever, but with the limited supply here, he wasn't sure that it would be available.

It's even harder to track down someone in this empty building that knows how to cook. At first, the stewardess' behavior baffles him, shifting her gaze and her feet, but then he remembers that _he's got his wings out_ , and of course they would be nervous, even if they've been informed of his whereabouts.

He's been spoiled by the acceptance of his superiors and peers over the past weeks, and they make up such a huge part of his world, it completely slipped his mind that civilians will react differently. They'll always react differently.

He instinctively tucks in his wings to try and look less intimidating, but the fact that they move seems to scare the woman more than anything else. After a moment of nervous babbling from both sides, Armin does manage to get his request across in a civilized fashion. And that he doesn't want to eat _her_.

Their exchange is disheartening, but Armin takes is as an important lesson. He has to learn to be a better judge of character. Some encounters may turn out alright, but he'll never forget what his grandfather warned him of when he was little either. There's always the chance he'd meet someone who would wish to do him harm for what he is.

He returns to Jean with his spirits low, but his patient still half-asleep and too hazy to notice. Armin doses him with some of the syrup he found, and he licks the peppery-sweet flavor off of his lips. When the broth is brought to the room (someone knocks on the door, and when Armin opens it, there's no-one to be found-- but they left a steaming bowl on a tray on the floor) he eats it well, showing signs of hunger. He'll be alright, Armin thinks for the first time since he was shot, and it eases his nerves. He falls asleep watching Jean, sitting backward on a chair, and doesn't wake up until dawn.

Armin feels safe here in Trost thanks to Hange's efforts, but he has no idea where Levi's squad could be right now, let alone Eren and Historia. He hopes they're hiding well.

Jean slowly rouses from his stupor, and by the time his fever breaks he's acting like his old self again. Armin can tell, because he immediately begins to complain. About being hungry, about being sore, about smelling like fresh kill left out in the sun... Armin gives him a bucket and a sponge and tells him to take care of himself if he's going to be so noisy about it.

For a guy so loud and full of gripes, he sure is discreet about bathing. He does most of it tented underneath his sheet. Armin suppresses the urge to scoff.

They spend the day playing cards and other games, to pass the time and distract each other. They don't get any news until the next morning when the paper arrives, still warm from the presses. They read it together.

"Martial law?"

"I can't believe it..."

"This has to be the greatest paradigm shift to happen within the walls since we started to record history..." Armin says in a reverent sort of quiet, wanting to turn the page, although he knows Jean isn't done with it yet, "the monarchy, completely dethroned? The lords broken apart? If it was all so easily dismantled, what was it even good for? Was it all constructed of lies?"

"It makes you wonder," Jean agrees, and flips to the next page. Armin reads far ahead of him in a matter of seconds, "I think we were in the perfect position to pull something like this off though. Squad Leader Hange uncovered enough shit to make anyone look like a monster, even a King. And the Commander was putting his neck on the line to make this work... If it didn't, he was a goner."

"Even Commander Pixis and Commander Dok had to at least have been aware of what he was planning," Armin points out, literally, touching the paper where their names are mentioned, "He was working every possible angle, maybe even planting seeds of doubt where he knew they would grow."

"There's a reason he's in charge. Only a guy as crazy as he is..."

"I suppose someone must possess a certain degree of recklessness to lead," Armin concedes. Jean shifts his jaw, obviously thinking about those words.

Unfortunately, nothing in the paper mentions anything about the Special Operations Squad, or the infamous Titan Shifter, (and Armin double checks over and over to make sure, until Jean forces him to stop) so their well-being is still up in the air. Hopefully, the Military can now put all of their resources into support, and end this mission as soon as possible.

Late that night, tremors shake the earth, waking the both of them from sleep. The feeling reminds Armin of giant footsteps. A message comes to them not five minutes later, relaying that a massive, malformed Titan, even bigger than a Colossal class, is headed towards the city of Olbd. They aren't sure if Trost will be in danger or not, but the Garrison assembles on the Wall anyways. They watch soldiers and concerned onlookers flood the streets from their window.

"'Could've been out there too," Jean remarks bitterly, and Armin can only nod and murmur his agreement. Jean will eventually recover, and most likely return to the front lines with Levi's squad, but Armin still doesn't know where he's going to end up. He doesn't want to think about it.

The ruckus lasts until morning and ends as abruptly as it began. The panic dies down, people begin to return to their homes, and the Garrison slowly pulls back from the wall. The Titan must have been taken care of somehow.

An afternoon edition of the newspaper is fired out from the presses; a rare occurrence. It describes the Titan and where it came from, but only with the barest amount of detail. Armin suspects that its true origin is something only the Recon Corps would know. But one small observation at the end of the article draws his eye.

The soldier that killed the Titan was a blonde girl, who's name remains unknown. She stood before the citizens of Olbd and declared herself the Queen of the people inside the Walls.

_Historia._

Armin spends the rest of the day too anxious to relax. If Historia is alive, then what about Eren and the others? Surely they must have survived too. He paces the floor and compulsively grooms his already-clean wing, unbothered by Jean's open stare as he performs the alien act. He wishes his other wing wasn't still bound up, so he could take care of that one too. By the time evening rolls around, he's worked himself into a silly frenzy, tired and yet fully awake simultaneously.

The clattering of horses hooves and wheels against the cobblestone catches his attention. Armin looks out as a wagon drives past and then stops at the entrance of the headquarters.

"I'll be back," he tells Jean, and doesn't give him time to respond before he rushes out of the room.

He's down the stairs and out the receiving door in record-setting fashion.

"Excuse me! Can I be of any assist--"

"Out of the way!"

Some cloaked and hooded personnel are jumping into the back of the wagon with a stretcher. Armin can't tell what division they're in, or where they came from. But they come back out with...

"Captain Levi!"

He's in bad shape, if the stretcher wasn't indication enough. Still, he looks up at Armin with his usual expression of mild irritation.

"Get your ass back inside, Arlert. You're causing a scene."

Causing a... oh. The two men carrying Levi have stopped in their tracks to gawk at the creature before them. Armin takes a step back and his wing folds in natural embarrassment.

"Come on now, hup hup! One two, that's right, on you go."

Hange appears beside them out of what seems like thin air, gives one of the men a healthy pat on the butt to get them moving again. One of her arms is in a sling, and she look a little pale, but she smiles at him as she follows the procession in.

" _Armin!_ "

Now that's a voice he recognizes. Armin spins on his heel and catches his first glimpse of Eren trying to get out of the back of the wagon. He puffs up in eager excitement and dashes forward to give him his hands and help him down.

"Eren! You're alright!"

Relatively. Now that he can see into the bed of the cart, he can see the rest of the squad languidly stirring from varying states of injury and exhaustion. He immediately feels pains of sympathy for them-- they must have been going on little to no rest for days, and who knows what they had to fight after that squad of assassins sent by the Military Police... But they're alive! They're all alive! His spirits soar, anxiety relieved now that he knows everyone survived.

Eren jumps out and lands heavily, using Armin to steady himself into standing. A wing mantles around him protectively, and he looks at it in wonder.

"You're not hiding them!"

"I don't need to, here," Armin explains, and Eren nods in dumb approval. Another set of feet drop down from the cart, and he peers around to see that it's Mikasa, carrying an ample crate.

"The Squad Leader said this location is low on medical supplies."

"Yes, of course," he nods, and makes a motion to wave her inside. He'd take the box, but he can tell by the way she's carrying it that it would be too heavy for him to handle, "Eren, there's a room just up the stairs that has several beds, can you find it?"

"...Yeah," Eren replies, and parts from him with an air of reluctance, going to follow Mikasa. Armin pokes his head into the wagon to gather anyone still lagging behind.

"Connie? Sasha?"

"We're coming," he hears Connie groan, "Sasha tweaked her ankle, or something. Can you lend a hand? Ah, shoot, what about Historia? She's out cold."

"I've got her," Armin says, and pulls himself in. Connie and Sasha continue to try and manoeuvre themselves out without shifting her leg too much. He finds Historia curled up in a corner, perfectly asleep despite everything going on around her.

"Historia," he calls, shaking her gently, "you have to get up. Just for a little bit, to move inside. Then you can sleep again-- in a bed, even. Okay?"

She stirs, just barely, opening an eye to peek at Armin.

"...A bird."

"It's Armin," he corrects her flatly, hearing Sasha snort a few feet away, "come on. You heard me, didn't you?"

Historia takes her time processing his request, but eventually stretches in place, and pushes herself up. Armin worms his way under her arm to support her. There's something about the look in her eyes that tells him she isn't going to get very far on her own, at least not in a straight line.

Armin waits for Connie to finish helping Sasha down, and then follows suit. The stairs present another struggle for the both of them, but they make it up with time. Everyone files into the open room; Eren and Mikasa are already there, sitting on the edge of a bed.

Historia is barely conscious, so Armin takes care of her first. He helps her out of her harness and boots, then lies her down to sleep. Looking at everyone else, it's easy to tell that they'd like nothing more than to do the same, but are too full of nerves to finally shut off and rest. Armin wants to ask them about what happened: to them, to the Captain, where that Titan came from, but... He can't. He knows better.

"It looks like you only got first aid. Let me patch you all up," he offers, and stands to rummage through the crate Mikasa brought up. It's full of everything he could need to properly treat any kind of wound, "and I'll ask one question. Why were you all brought back to Trost? Certainly there are ample facilities for the Recon Corps in Olbd."

"Historia," Mikasa answers simply, as Armin approaches Sasha. He carefully takes off her boot, while she winces, so he can examine her for possible injury, "she said something in Olbd, about being the new Queen. It's not safe to keep her there."

"It's already in the papers here," he confirms with a nod, pressing gently at Sasha's leg to try and find a break or fracture. Connie sits near her with a sour expression on his face, "they don't have a name, but I can imagine the stir she must have caused."

"Right after the King was dethroned? Uh, yeah," Eren adds, "after she killed that Titan, people were going nuts trying to get a look at her. The Captain was pissed about her blowing her cover so soon, but Commander Erwin acted like it was all part of the plan."

"Knowing him? It probably was," Armin replies. He doesn't feel any break in Sasha's leg or ankle, so he wraps it up in a simple splint to keep it from moving too much. The sprain would probably heal on its own with time, "even from what little information we've gotten here, it's clear the Monarchy wasn't overthrown simply out of luck and good timing."

Eren 'hrms' in thought, leaning forward and holding his head. He's trying to remember something. It isn't always easy, with the confusion that goes on in his head, and foreign memories always bubbling under the surface. Mikasa puts a hand on his back, and he surprisingly does nothing to shrug her off.

"He told me something weird once. Something about seeing the 'true enemy'..."

The atmosphere is so heavy that no-one expects their contemplative silence to be broken... By a jiggling doorknob, and some muffled cursing.

"Damn it Armin, you said you'd be right back!"

"Oh, heavens," he mutters under his breath and trots over to answer. Everyone straightens their necks to watch the commotion, "I would have come for you eventually!"

He opens the door, and Jean is leaning against the frame, holding his side tight and shaking on his feet. Armin ducks under his shoulder to take on his weight.

"Well, you weren't! I'm just across the hall, I could hear all of you talking!"

"Gods! Can't you stand to be alone for more than five minutes?"

Their easy bickering lightens the mood dramatically. Eren is laughing not-so-subtly into his hand, and Connie slaps his knee in amusement.

"So Hange didn't lie! You're still alive and whining!"

"Cram it, baldy!" Jean hisses through his teeth, and takes an aggressive step forward... which falters sideways, nearly bowling Armin over.

" _Jean!_ Don't pick a fight when you can hardly stand," he scolds and pushes back up against his weight, "you'll bust your stitches. Relax your core. Come on."

Armin slowly leads him over to an empty bed like the invalid that he is, much to Jean's embarrassment, propping up pillows and getting him settled like a regular nurse.

"You two sure have gotten cozy," Eren remarks, obviously to poke fun. And while it does fluster Jean, Armin only replies matter-of-factly:

"We've been stuck here alone for days. Of course we'd become familiar with each other. Right?"

"R-right," Jean mutters, and looks away, "so you jackasses better not get the wrong idea."

What exactly could that "wrong idea" be? Armin glances at Jean curiously, but he averts his gaze again, face flushed.

"What, that a horse-faced bastard like you could actually make a friend?" Connie cajoles him further, his chin in one hand, sporting the world's most antagonizing shit-eating grin.

"I _said_ ," Jean begins, but Sasha clips Connie over the head for him.

"Stop it. You were the one that was the most upset when we thought he was dead, weren't you?"

"Sasha!" He hisses a whisper at her and Armin chuckles. Despite his cranky attitude, Jean's arrival has lightened everyone's mood considerably.

Sasha and Connie are playfully sparring, and Eren is starting to nod off against Mikasa's shoulder. Armin gets up to finish any last bits of bandaging to the superficial wounds she and Connie seem to have. By the time he's done, a lazy air has blanketed the room.

"We should all get some sleep," Armin suggests, and no one is inclined to disagree with him, "explanations can wait until morning."

The four beds in the room are already neatly occupied. Historia, Connie and Sasha, Eren and Mikasa, and Jean. Normally they'd segregate themselves off by gender, but that seems pointless and fussy considering the circumstances. They're all too exhausted to do anything other than sleep. Everyone settles down, and Armin blows out the lamps.

He doesn't want to bother Historia, nor does he feel close enough to her to share a bed. Armin lingers for a moment in the center of the room, before looking towards Jean in the darkness. Turns out, he's already being watched.

Jean makes a 'tch' noise, then lifts the end of his sheet in invitation. Armin steps forward carefully, tucking his wings in as tightly as he can, and slips in next to him. They don't speak, and relax in easy familiarity.

The backs of his knuckles itch. He rubs them absently against the mattress.

\--

"So... the memories of the royal family are in your blood now?" Armin asks.

The next morning, Armin brings breakfast up to the room for everyone to pick at their leisure. Some eat more enthusiastically than others, as he gets informed on the astonishing amount of action they all went through these past few days.

"As well as I understand it," Eren shrugs glumly. He scoots over to be a little closer to his friend, and hugs his wing around him comfortingly.

"But then..." Armin looks to Historia. She shakes her head vehemently.

"My father could have eaten him, and regained the memories. I know," she rips through a bread roll with surprising vigor, "I made my choice. I'd rather take my chance with Eren, and his basement, than trust that man with the fate of humanity."

Armin nods solemnly. He owes her his thanks, for making that choice over the love of her father. It must have been a difficult decision. But Historia seems more full of energy than she's ever been, miles away from the depressed girl he remembers Levi screaming at to take responsibility only weeks before.

"And you really declared yourself Queen in front of all of those people?"

"That's what I am now. If that's the power I get to have, I'm going to take it, and use it."

For the first time, he sees a look in her eyes akin to the flame of righteousness that Eren's held when facing Titans, an unbreakable sort of fury. Armin knows it well. Nothing will stand in its way; it will consume all that stands in its path. He feels confident in her, like one should feel in their leader.

"And the first thing I'm going to do... Is help the people that really need it. The people are going to love the Monarchy, like they did when it first began!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> If you liked this chapter, please leave a kudos, or even better, a comment! Even just a small one! Your feedback is what keeps me going! It's what authors live off of!


	7. Scales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I've gotten used to my job, and don't feel so tired all the time... Back to writing!
> 
> I'm a bit ehhhh about this chapter, it doesn't feel like much happens in it, but I guess it's important in its own way. I hope to dig a little deeper into the issue, and get some more real Jearmin moments in the next chapter. Sorry if this is a little disappointing.
> 
> TW: Self Harm. Later in the chapter.

Historia's coronation takes place only a few days after the Titan attack on Olbd. The citizens are clamoring for a new leader after word of the King's displacement and the Military's coup. And they won't accept just anyone either. Even in a corrupt world like this one, where people suffer under those with power, the concept of "royalty" is not so easily cast aside.

But Historia's pedigree is proven. The _true royal bloodline_. It fills the populace with excitement, and daresay, with hope. For the first time in more than a hundred years, their little world is going to change.

The ceremony of her crowning is crawling with cloaks to ensure her safety. Sharpshooters with crossbows are stationed on the rooves of nearby buildings, and hooded faces peer through windows and at every darkened corner. Armin, also dressed in a heavy cloak for completely different reasons, counts them off. They're well-positioned, and there has to be at least three dozen of them.

He's not on duty though. He's near the podium Historia is standing on, backstage if you will, simply to watch. Jean is with him, in a wheelchair. He still can't stand up for long periods of time, even with crutches.

It bothers him. A lot. He's very vocal about it.

"Should I even be here?" Jean grumbles in a low tone, as the audience is motioned into silence, "I didn't do anything to help make this happen. I got shot and fell out of a cart."

"If our most recent mission is the only measure of our success in the Recon Corps, I shouldn't be here either," Armin hisses back at him, equally perturbed, "we've both committed our hearts to humanity, and we've definitely both suffered for it. So stop complaining, alright?"

Normally Armin isn't so acidic, but he's been in a poor mood recently. Sure, Jean made a mistake, but Armin _is_ a mistake. He still doesn't have any future security, aside from Erwin's orders to "survive". Jean will heal. Armin might remain a curiosity for the rest of his life.

And he _itches_. His knuckles, his elbows, his shins and the joints in his feet... His hair too, around his temples. It's driving him nuts. He tries his hardest not to react to it, guessing that it's some sort of psychosomatic response to stress, but when he's alone at night, he can't help but rub and rub until he turns red. It's the only thing that makes him feel better.

Such irritation is rare in him, so Jean responds with an ashamed mumble. Armin takes a deep breath, and sighs, trying to calm himself.

"I'm sorry. Just... don't worry about that, okay? This is a big step in the right direction. We should be proud, no matter what kind of hand we had in its conception."

Jean takes in his collected words, and forces himself to nod in quiet agreement. Armin remembers the nameless man he shot, and his mouth recalls the taste of bile. It hasn't changed; the sensation has only become more dull over time.

It's odd, to watch the diadem be placed on Historia's brow. Armin knew Christa for years, but Historia for only a month at best. It's hard to reconcile these two people, so obviously different, and yet carrying many similarities... What qualities would she bring into her reign? He hopes for Historia's steadfast determination, and Christa's tolerant kindness.

The gathering crowd lets out a roar of approval as she takes the scepter and sovereign's orb. _Queen Historia! Queen Historia!_ They all chant in unison. She does not smile, or even hold a royal mien, but stares straight ahead as if peering into a future only she can see.

\--

The days henceforth change dramatically for the Recon Corps

They become Historia's hands. While she has full control over the entire Military now, and they do obey her orders, she still prefers to give the work she finds the most important to those she trusts the most.

She is inexperienced, but she has help from those have dealt with politics for years. Erwin, Pixis, and even Nile do not hesitate to share what wisdom they have with her. And she never, ever, takes no for an answer.

Her first order of business as the new Queen is to end the abject poverty that most of the people within the Walls endure. With no Royal Court to stand in her way, she's able to change policies and reform taxes to make life easier for those who are simply trying to survive. And with the help of the Military Police, fresh from suffering loses as soon as their cushy lifestyle was taken away from them and eager to make a new name for themselves, she roots out the Underground, saving the poorest of the poor and bringing them back up to the surface.

Of course, this creates new problems in infrastructure. Most of these people don't have anywhere to go, and quite frankly, there isn't a place for them to be. Structures have to be built quickly, homesteads, farmland all squeezed within the remaining territory in Wall Maria... For awhile, the Military nearly becomes agrarian as they rush to house these people and provide them with a way to make for themselves.

One cause, the most important to Historia, is what she entrusts to her own squad. Along with the adults and families, there are plenty of orphaned children that need a place to stay. As an orphan herself, she won't accept anyone else to do this work. She even sheds her crown and escapes the capital as soon as the opportunity arises to join them, like the old days. Very few question her lack of presence. She never took any part in pointless royal rituals, and couldn't be found on the throne since day one.

They find a plot of land within the territory of Wall Rose, and all the nessecary supplies are shipped in or gathered from the area itself. Contractors who know how to plan and construct are hired. The Special Operations Squad is left to build a working orphanage with what they have.

Armin does not fail to see the irony in all this. It feels like only days ago they were sneaking in the shadows and taking human lives to save themselves, to work towards an ideal. Now, they're building lives for those who don't have anything for themselves, so out in the open the sky stretches far enough that he can't see any walls on the horizon. He unfolds his wing at the sight of white clouds, stretching across so high and so thin they look like fading scars.

They begin putting up stables, and a cabin that they can stay in right away. Jean, and more importantly, Levi, are recovering well, but can't take part in their activities quite yet. They need a place better than a tent to convalesce as soon as possible. And horses are coming in and out daily. Usually, it's Hange, to take Eren away for whatever experiment she has planned for the day, but mail and fresh food is common too.

It feels like a lull. An intermission between acts. Armin spends his time in a quiet life for the first time since he was a child. Even his training wasn't this peaceful. He ends his days with his face and hands covered in dirt. He's accomplished something, not fighting and destroying, but creating.

Since Eren often isn't around, Armin continues to spend his free time with Jean. He doesn't know why, really. He still complains a lot, about being cooped up and forced to share a tent with their stoic Captain, or about being bored, or about some way Sasha or Connie have bothered him recently. But Armin tunes it out, like white noise. Maybe it's the only way Jean knows how to communicate. He learns to instead focus on what he _doesn't_ complain about, trying to find out if there's anything that he actually likes.

Tonight, after washing up and eating, Armin is helping Jean with his rehabilitation. He sits on Jean's legs as he lies down, and braces his arms as he does gentle sit-ups. The pain of doing such exercises is starting to fade, but they're still difficult. The muscles in his core are damaged and weak. Armin gives a little tug at his wrists at the end of every repetition, so they touch foreheads, to at least give him the satisfaction of making it all the way up.

Jean starts making him participate too. He stretches his wing out to full length every time they touch. It's pointless, he reasons, he's never going to fly, but... He likes that someone cares. Honestly, not just out of morbid curiosity. Jean says he wants to see him give it a good flap one of these days, like he told him he used to when he was a kid.

At night, when he's alone in bed, he combs his hands through his feathers, noting how much longer they've gotten. A lot of the ones he had cut have shed, giving way to shiny, healthy-looking growth. Maybe someday soon, he'll be able to take his other wing out of its sling.

His itching hasn't stopped, but it's been going on for so long now that its become a regular perturbance. A greyish rash has broken out over the knuckles of his right hand, but he assumes that's only because he's been scratching it too much. He wraps a cloth bandage around the irritated flesh, and no-one questions him about it. He probably just hurt himself working.

In a few weeks, the majority of the building has been finished. There's almost enough space for all the children that were found in the Underground. Soon, they'll have the means to move them all in.

But the rash has spread. It's gone down to his wrist, and even more alarming, it's beginning to mirror on his other arm, and it's showing up in splotches on his legs. His fingernails are turning a dark black.

He doesn't know what it is. Leprosy comes to mind, which begins as a whitish rash, and begins to cause numbness in the extremities... But his fingers and toes are fine. And the infection seems isolated to his limbs. This head and torso remain unaffected.

Armin has to wrap more bandages around his arms to hide it. He rubs a bit of dirt on them to make it look less conspicuous. It's autumn now, so wearing long sleeves all the time doesn't garner attention either. He makes a new tunic for himself out of a heavy jacket. He doesn't want anyone to worry. He wants to forget about it himself.

So he does.

When the orphans arrive, he throws himself into the work of taking care of them. He's an orphan too, after all, he has been for a long time... His entire life, really, even though he considers the man who raised him to be his real grandfather.

But the whole time he's been living and working here, he hasn't been hiding his wings, and he's not about to start again. He has to be introduced gently.

Their first meeting is not so auspicious. Despite the fact that he's brought to the children by the well-loved Historia, many shrieks in surprise and some flat out run off. Only the few most curious and brave of the kids stick around long enough for him to introduce himself, exchanging skeptical looks.

The next day, as he works in the fields, he feels a tug at his feathers. He yelps in surprise, and tucks his wing in close. He turns around only to see a back sprinting wildly away from him, kicking up soft dirt in their mad dash. Armin sighs. How long is this sort of behavior going to last?

A few days later, he hears the quiet sob of someone crying. It's hard to pinpoint where it's coming from. Armin wanders around, in and out of the cabins looking for the source of it. Eventually, he finds a girl hiding under a bed, clutching a dirty lace ribbon. She recoils further at the sight of him.

"It's okay," he says gently, reaching out one of his hands far enough for her to touch, but he doesn't try to drag her out on his own, "come here. I won't hurt you, I promise."

She hesitates, and rightly so. But he just keeps holding his hand out to her. Eventually, she takes it, with a feathery grip as he helps her out from her hiding place. She's young, perhaps only 7 years old, with the tell-tale white complexion of someone who was born underground. Against her skin, her hair is brilliantly dark.

"What's the matter?" he asks, and she shrinks, trying to be smaller, "are you hurt? Are the other children picking on you?"

She shakes her head, looking away. Her fingers caress the fabric of the ribbon she holds so tightly.

"What's that?"

The girl opens her mouth like she wants to answer him, but only a small sob comes out. She begins to cry again. Armin rubs her back patiently.

"I-it was my mother's," she eventually chokes through her tears, as the fall and patter quietly against her ribbon, "It was the only thing... When they took away her body, it was the only thing I could grab before everything else was gone."

Her mother must have died recently, then. Probably from one of the many diseases that have been running rampant since the overcrowding after Wall Maria was supposedly compromised. They would pile the bodies in carts to take up above and burn. Poor thing hasn't even been alone for that long yet.

"I'm sorry. I know it's hard," he pulls her hair back, and runs a bandaged knuckle up her cheek to dam falling tears. Sometimes offering something to relate to can get a person to open up, "I was only a little bit older than you when my grandfather... the man who took care of me, died. It was when the Titans first came through the Wall. He was drafted, and never returned from battle."

"...She was sick," the girl sniffs, and turns her head to look up at Armin, "Nothing helped. She just kept getting worse and worse until..."

She chokes up. Armin gathers her up in his lap and holds her close to his chest, rocking back and forth.

"Shh, shh. It's alright. I understand."

Enough coaxing eventually calms her down. She loosens her clutch on her ribbon. Armin takes the end of it by his forefinger and thumb.

"May I?"

She holds it tightly for another moment, but eventually lets go, and nods. He combs through the slight tangles in her hair with his fingers, and then does her hair up in a ponytail using the ribbon. The girl reaches behind her head to feel it, since they have no mirror. It seems to make her happy, enough that she stops crying.

"What's your name?" he asks her, patting her head.

"...Catherine," she replies softly.

"Hi, Catherine. I'm Armin."

\--

In the days that come, Catherine becomes his little shadow. She follows him all around during the day as he does chores, helping in any way she can. She'll play with the other children, but she likes being around Armin the best. He's comforting. And she loves the way he puts his wing around her when she stands close to his side.

"How did you get wings?" she asks him once she's gotten over her shyness.

"I don't know," he replies honestly, "I was born with them."

She follows up with all the usual queries-- Do you move them? Can you fly?-- And Armin answers those as well.

After that, it only takes a day. The rest of the orphans suddenly begin to test their boundaries with him all at once. Racing up and touching him, coming to say hello-- it's a little overwhelming, but Catherine shoos anyone who bothers him too much away. He's not exactly sure what happened until she explains it to him.

"I told them you were a good person, so they're not afraid of you anymore."

Apparently it only takes the word of one child to reverse a reputation. Their doubts about him were assuaged overnight. Now he can get as close as he likes, during mealtime or when they play, without a single scream or squeak of fear.

\--

As Jean becomes well enough to work, and help with chores, he has to assimilate himself into the group too. He becomes the new oddity as he first starts to show his face around the orphans, but his appeal fades much quicker than Armin's did. A lot of the boys attach to him, simply because he's tall and looks strong, and is fun to tease. He always reacts so sharply, the kids can't help but continue to pester him. It's so much more fun to get him to yell.

But he can have quieter moments with them too. While he's sitting on the sidelines, taking a break, some of the kids gather around him. Armin watches from not-so-far-away, interested in how he'll deal with them. Catherine is at his side, as always.

"Where'd you come from anyways?" one of them asks, "all of the other workers were here from the beginning, like Queen Historia and Armin."

"And Connie and Sasha!" another pipes up to add in.

"Hey, I was here the whole time," he answers, "I was just in the cabin, so you never saw me."

"Why didn't come out? Were you sick?"

"Were you too lazy?"

"Jeez, what do I have to do to get some respect around here?" he snaps, speaking through his teeth, and the kids giggle in mock-fear, "I was injured in combat; I couldn't do work."

"A Survey Corps injury!" they gasp, "were you bitten by a Titan?"

"...No," Jean admits, like he wishes that was actually the case. He sighs, and hitches the side of his shirt up to reveal a large, puckering scar, veining all out over his skin. Some of the kids pull faces or make noises of disgust, while others _ooh_ in surprised fascination, "I was shot. And it's not any more fun, let me tell you."

"Who shot you?"

"Bad guys. It doesn't matter," he gleans over the details, aware that the Military Police are getting enough shit these days as it is. But 'bad guys' is enough to garner awe out of the children. They chatter with each other excitedly.

Catherine turns her head away from them, looking cross.

"What's the matter?" Armin questions her, tilting his head.

"They act like he's so cool," she huffs, "but you were hurt too, and nobody cares."

"Of course they care," he protests calmly, assuming that she was talking about his broken wing, "my whole squad was there when I fell, Jean included. They were very upset."

"No, not your wing," she shakes her head, and then she does something he doesn't expect.

She pulls up his long sleeve, to reveal the bandage on his arm. It wraps around every finger, and goes all the way up to his elbow. He looks at it in surprise. Has it always been that large? Since when did he cover himself so thoroughly?

"Your arms are hurt like this, and nobody ever says anything about it."

"I..."

Words stick in his throat, as the skin on the back of his neck prickles in alarm. His heartrate picks up. His breath fills his lungs wide.

He can feel Jean's eyes on him. It's like the whole world is looking at him. He looks back, and he feels like their locked gaze lasts an eternity's time.

"...I'm sorry, Catherine," he stutters, backing away from her, "I have to go."

Before she can call after him, before anyone has the time to see him or react, he runs for the stables. There's always a horse saddled and ready to ride in case of emergency, and he leaps on it's back without a second's thought or moment of doubt. He digs his heels into its flank and barks at it to giddy-up and run.

He doesn't even know where he's going. He just has to _leave._

\--

Armin gallops his horse as far as his conscience allows, before giving the poor beast a break. He has no idea where he is; he simply gave the horse its head and let it run as it pleased, as long as it was fast about it.The area is forested, and he can hear the nearby burbling of a brook.

He jumps down from the saddle and leads his horse to the source of the water, tying its bridle to a nearby branch. Then he walks downstream until the water stretches out into a shimmering, glassy surface. His rear hits the ground with a heavy _thump._ His body is trembling from keeping astride on such a hard ride.

He looks at his hands. The bandages covering them are stained brown from wear. Only his blackened fingertips show through the cloth. He lets himself grow used to the sight, before pulling off his jacket and shirt to see the full extent of the damage.

His arm, all the way up to his elbow, is thoroughly wrapped. But Armin is more alarmed by the fact that he can't recall layering them up like this. Surely, it was only a small irritation, right? It wouldn't require such drastic measures to keep in check. But fuzzy recollection bubbles up as he slowly unwraps his right arm, the one that initially began to break out.

The dark grey rash is no longer just a simple abrasion. It has hardened on his skin, and solidified into huge, hard blisters that feel like scales. Armin recognizes it right away, it's just like the texture of rooster's feet. And his fingernails have turned hard, like their spurs.

He uncovers his other arm, and rolls up his pants. It's the same. It's everywhere. All the way up to his elbows and knees. He's been hiding it so carefully. He's an expert at hiding, after all these years. But he didn't know he was capable of hiding from himself.

Armin begins to hyperventilate. What's happening to him? Is he becoming some sort of monster? Is this just going to continue until he's finally more bird than human?

His sight fixes as if he's looking at himself from a great distance. Everything feels so far away. As his breathing evens out, and his mind detaches, he reaches into his back pocket for his work knife. Its clean surface glints cold in the sun filtering through the trees. He braces the back of it against his thumb.

He jams the base of the blade 'underneath' one of the scales. The pain is excruciating, but he feels as thought it's happening to someone other than himself. He rocks the handle to cut further, trying to wedge off the blistered skin. Blood spills down his arm and drips off of his elbow. He continues to wiggle the knife, peeling off the skin like he peels a potato.

He doesn't hear the pounding of approaching hoofbeats.

" _Armin!_ "

He gives a sudden start, and the knife lodges into his flesh. He lets out a cry of pain as reality snaps into focus. He releases the bloodsoaked handle, looking at what he's done to himself as if someone else had guided his hand. His gaze flies up to the rearing horse in front of him, and it's rider, pulling back on the reins to try and calm it.

It's Jean.

A pulse of frantic energy runs through him. He feels his spine curl, and his wings unfold. The old sling holding his white wing in place snaps against the force, and both raise into the air in a frightened display.

The horse whinnies in shock, and bucks. Jean tumbles backwards out of his saddle. It's lucky that he isn't stepped on as the animal sprints away from Armin.

"Augh! Fuck!"

Jean tries to push himself up off the ground. Armin cradles his arm close to his chest, and mantles his wings around himself in an attempt to hide. He's nearly able to completely cover himself in a shelter of feathers. He doesn't want to be seen, not by Jean, not by anyone...

"Come on Armin, what are you doing? You nearly got me killed!"

He hears Jean approaching, and stiffens. A hand grabs the limb of his dark wing, and Armin fights against it unfolding against his will. Jean snorts in frustration, and tries the other wing instead. It's too weak from disuse for him to keep it shut. He turns his head away as he knows he's being seen.

"...Shit. Did you do this to yourself?"

Armin whimpers in pain as Jean takes his arm, still looking pointedly away. Oh God. He can see him, he's  _touching_ him... He wants to throw up.

But Jean isn't concerned about his scales. He's trying to do something about the knife still lodged in his arm. He sees the nearby gauze that Armin has discarded, but curses-- they're too disgusting to use on a fresh wound. He pulls off his thick jacket and his undershirt, and begins to tear it to shreds. Once he has enough, he pulls the knife out without warning. Armin gives a strangled gasp as Jean presses the makeshift bandages to the wound before it can bleed out.

He starts to cry, shedding silent tears.

"So this is what you were covering up," Jean says quietly, eyes running over Armin's arms and legs, "shit. How long has this been going on for?"

"I don't know," he murmurs thickly, "I can't recall. I remember getting a rash, and covering it up, but... I don't know how it got like this. I feel like I'm going insane."

Jean doesn't say anything. Deafening quiet fills the space between them. Armin feels like there's a stone in his throat, and his sobs stay bottled up inside of him.

"...I'm not human anymore," he confesses in the tiniest squeak of a voice, "I can't even say that now. I'm some kind of monster."

Armin lifts his watery gaze to Jean, who's still staring at his skin, biting his lip.

"I'm turning into a _monster_ , Jean."

"Shut up," Jean mutters, rife with uncertainty, "just... Shut up, okay? You're not... God, I don't even care!"

He says it like he's trying to convince himself of something. He takes Armin's free hand to make him hold his own wound, and then stands, for a moment, just to turn in an uneven circle, his hand pressed to his head. He's not equipped to handle this...

"Screw it. We're going back, okay?"

"Back?" Armin whimpers, as Jean puts his clothes back on. He sticks his pinkies in his mouth and starts to whistle for his horse, "Jean, I can't."

"Well too fucking bad," he grumbles, looking back at the miserable Armin, "do you know how violently Eren would murder me if I let you get away with this? Let alone Mikasa. I don't even want to know what _she's_ capable of... Hell, I'm already knee-deep in trouble with them for letting you get this way."

Eren, Mikasa. Memories of a happy childhood fill his head. It all seems so long ago now. He thinks about Jean, too, who's suddenly been burdened with a responsibility... He's hurting everyone, isn't he?

"They don't want me like this..."

"Bullshit. You could turn into a pigeon and they'd still want you. And you know it."

Armin can't deny the sense in his words. But he doesn't want this. He can't stand the creature he's becoming. He doesn't know who he is anymore.

Jean takes the reins of his horse as it cautiously picks its way back to him, still quite wary of Armin. It whinnies nervously and paws the ground under its hooves, but Jean shushes it, leading it over. He kneels down to pick up Armin's cloak, and drapes it over him. Then he locks his arm under his shoulder.

"Come on. Up. I'm not leaving you behind."

He brings Armin to his feet with a gentle heave. Without another word, Jean guides him over to his horse, and into the saddle. He doesn't have to think, he's just taking someone else's lead.

They follow the stream back up to Armin's horse. Jean gets astride, holding both sets of reins. He sets a slow pace back to the orphanage. As they make their way, Armin notices that barreling through the forest at the speed he did left quite an obvious trail. No wonder Jean was able to find him so quickly. His cheeks redden with hot shame.

"...I'm sorry," he mumbles, now aware that he pulled a ridiculous stunt, stealing a horse, cutting himself open like he did... Jean just shakes his head.

"You're not the one that needs to say that. I think the whole world owes you a big fat apology by now."

Armin goes quiet, mulling over those words. The gentle rocking motion and rhythmic sound of hooves treading soft dirt as they ride gives him a little bit of peace.

"And," Jean suddenly interjects into the silence, and Armin's head snaps up, "tell me next time, okay? Before you start wrapping yourself up in bandages, and hiding again."

"...Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this fic, please, leave a comment or a kudos. I really appreciate it. Feedback is what keeps me going, so if you can give me a moment of your time... It means a lot to me.


	8. ~discontinuation

Sorry everyone, but I'm discontinuing this fic. I just couldn't keep up with the canon I was presenting. There was no place for this to go!

However! If you want to read more wing!fic, I've got a new fic coming out that you can read [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7015504/chapters/15973747). It's more of a fantasy setting, with ABO dynamics, and more animal hybrids. Give it a try if you'd like!

Thank you for your continued support.


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